


A Child Unexpected

by skybound2



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drama, F/M, Pregnancy, Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:04:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybound2/pseuds/skybound2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kallian Tabris decides to leave Ferelden for Seheron with Sten, but a night spent with Zevran prior to the fall of the Archdemon has a lasting impact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sezso](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sezso).



> **Pairing References:** Zevran/Other, Alistair/Tabris, Alistair/Morrigan, Alistair/Anora  
> **Spoilers**: Through end game. References to 'Awakening' and 'The Calling' as well.  
> **Author's Note:** I was offering up "drabbles" and **sezso** requested a Zevran/Tabris fic wherein babies are had, and stuff. Well, this monster is the result. Sadly, I veer a bit off course from the original request, BUT I do promise that it will ultimately end up where you were hoping it would. It's just gonna take a little while to get there. Many, many thanks to **pennydreadful** for the beta! This story would not be half as decent without her. Also, I play fast and loose with what life in Seheron (and with the qunari) is like. (Specifically, this goes AU in reference to how a foreign child would be dealt with in Seheron.)

**Seheron: Eleven Weeks after the Fall of the Archdemon**

Sten had always said that Seheron smelled of tea, incense, and the sea. And while she had gotten enough of the sea for one lifetime on the boat ride there, thankyouverymuch, she could easily see (or smell, really) what it was that he loved about the place. So much so that it nearly felt like coming home to a place she'd never before been. The trip had lasted nearly two months, every moment arduous to her land-loving self. But it was worth it: 'Seheron: Worth the Annoyance of Getting Here.'

True, being in Seheron was at times as foreign to her as she supposed being in Ferelden was for Sten. But, there were similarities as well. Merchants lined the streets (many of which had elven stall hands) that were selling all manners of goods. (Including a stall selling Orlesian soaps and finery's just like Liselle's in Denerim – almost entirely patroned by humans.) Clothing was hung out to dry on lines behind homes. Guards roamed the streets, looking impressive in their gear, and the occasional beggar could be seen skirting around for scraps. (Though these were almost never qunari.) And in place of the Chantry priests, there were Qun philosophers out and about. Of everyone in the city, these people were the most willing to converse with her in a one-to-one manner; something the Chantry would have sworn impossible. Savages as they claimed them to be, and all.

She did bemoan the distinct lack of dogs within the city. Her poor mabari was something of an oddity to the people of Seheron, and he seemed a tad put out by it. But one universal truth appeared to be that wherever her pup went, little boys were sure to follow.

Everything was large, yet not grandiose. There was nothing extravagant about the city, it all seemed very purposeful, as if the originators had actually taken the time to plot out each and every street. And who knows? Perhaps they had. As such, there were few dead ends or dark alleys available for bandits to prey on the unsuspecting within, which made for an altogether pleasant meandering experience.

The people (mostly qunari, but doused with a liberal sprinkling of elves and humans as well) moved with intent from one locale to the next. When people lined up at a merchants, they knew exactly what item they wanted, in what quantity, and how much they were prepared to pay. There was little to no negotiating. It was just assumed that if a merchant was charging a price for a certain product, then that was because that item was worth that particular price.

It was rather refreshing.

~~~\/~~~

The day that they had arrived in Seheron, Sten had promptly (and maybe just a little warily) dragged her off to meet with the Arishok. She had felt a little like she had upon her arrival in Ostagar: unsure of her place, and in desperate need of a rest and some hot food. When she had spoke as much to Sten, he had looked upon her as if she was possessed. (An altogether terrifying look, given their recent history.)

"It is a matter of honor, Kadan. To delay would be an insult."

So, they had met with the man. Or rather, Sten met with him; Kallian stayed mostly faded in the background, doing her best impression of a mute. It was made abundantly clear from the moment she set foot in the compound (which was an odd combination of a fortress and a palace, minus all of the finery one would associate with either – it was all entirely practical, save for one large painting of a seascape situated above the Arishok's desk) that as she was neither qunari, nor a man, nor a convert to the Qun – that speaking directly to the Arishok would not be permitted.

Sten had attempted to explain to the Arishok that she was a _Kithshok_ in Ferelden, going into great – albeit brief – detail regarding her part in the war against the darkspawn, and the ending of the blight. The Arishok's deep-set red eyes had bored into her as Sten spoke. She supposed he may have been looking to intimidate her, or perhaps he was searching for a chink in her armor. Perhaps if he had ever looked into an archdemon's eyes, he would have understood why she felt absolutely at peace looking into his. So she stood, silent and steady as steel under the intense appraisal, meeting him head-on. When Sten's tale was done, the Arishok nodded and moved onto the business of reassigning Sten.

Though he did not dispute Sten's claim, neither did he appear convinced. She frankly didn't give a damn, not as long as as Sten was back in his good graces. Sten had been satisfied with the outcome of the meeting, and seemed positively eager to return to his former life. With the very subtle change of having an elf in tow, of course.

~~~\/~~~

One of the first places Sten had taken her, after they had met with the Arishok, had been a museum of sorts. A rotund, impressive structure built of steel and glass in a manner the likes of which she had never before seen. Inside, the rooms were open and vast, light-doused and airy. In many of them, a single piece of artwork would be situated. Each item was distinct, and intriguing. They had remained there for many hours; Sten quietly absorbed with a serious look upon his face, and Kallian gobsmacked at the beauty of it all.

He seemed pleased with her reaction, and had actually spoken to her at great length about the origins of the various pieces once they had departed. Truly, Sten had not been wrong when he'd once told her of the artisans and bards of the qunari. They appeared to attack their chosen profession with as much zeal and talent as Sten did his.

~~~\/~~~

The qunari military had barracks like any other, but Sten managed to secure a small apartment for their use while she remained in the area - which neither had thus far put a timestamp on. While the place **was** on the tiny side (seeing as how it needed to house an elf, a mabari, and a qunari) it was also more spacious then Kallian would have hoped. They each had their own sleeping quarters (both lightly furnished with a cot and rickety wardrobe), and the kitchen area had a sizable table with a cushy bench perfect for lounging. She found a home for several of the things she had acquired during her travels on the window ledge in her room, and Sten's paintings spruced up the walls considerably.

She had poked and prodded at him once about why he was staying with her, when he presumably could have had much more spacious lodging within that barracks – given his rank and all – but he had brushed her off. He didn't feel that she was as yet prepared to be let lose in qunari lands, and that he would have been forced to come and collect her on a near daily basis.

"This is the more prudent option." When she had looked at him askance, he had sighed that over-burdened _why does no one else think like me?_ sigh, and explained to her that while he no longer had trouble seeing her as an equal on the battlefield, or anywhere else, his people would not be so quick to come to the same..._enlightened _conclusion; and she was liable to get into trouble if left to her own devices.

She hadn't stopped laughing for nearly fifteen minutes. The annoyed look upon his face didn't help in the slightest.

~~~\/~~~

Despite Sten's – mostly correct – assurances that no one in his lands would be able to accept her as the warrior that she was, she found – to her great surprise and pleasure – that not nearly all qunari were as unflappable as Sten. Sure, she had caught a glimpse of the camaraderie and joviality that the members of his Beresaad had with one another during his dream within the Fade. But it was an entirely different story to settle down and join such people in a tavern.

They battered jokes at one another like arrows, and flirted (if in a somewhat _unusual_ fashion then what she was use to), with the barmaids. They'd listen, in quiet contemplation to the songs of the minstrels, and applaud loudly when their tales had all been spun. They'd even laughed uproariously – good-naturedly – when a younger member of the group had fallen from his stool, clearly too drunk to continue to sit upright. (He had made the miscalculation of challenging her to a mead drinking contest, which he had lost rather spectacularly. He was at a disadvantage though, as he had never had the pleasure of traveling with Oghren, or the training that came with it.)

When their tongues had been loosened enough, they began to rib Sten for his entanglement with her, questioning with crass barbs just what use he had _really_ found for an elf during his travels. So much so, that he felt the need to bring her home with him. Angered, he had lectured them – in that clipped and to-the-point manner of his – on honor and respect, and on actions befitting followers of the Qun. (She'd only been able to grasp half of the words, spoken as they'd been in his native tongue, but the message had been clear nonetheless.) It was unsurprising just how effective this method was in quieting the group.

When she had thanked him after, he'd very nearly blushed.

~~~\/~~~

They had been in Seheron nearly three weeks when she was no longer able to ignore the obvious symptoms; but she was simply too enamored with Sten's homeland to allow little things like bouts of nausea and dizziness to ruin it for her. Well, that and it could never be said that she wasn't completely capable of ignoring things which caused distinct amounts of discomfort. The ability to selectively filter out information had been a virtue growing up in the alienage; and if that ability just so happened to allow her to be a champion of denial now, then so be it.

When she had been sick on the boat, it was easy to assume that it was just motion induced (the perpetually green coloring of her skin during the voyage went a long way to validating that theory). Then, when they had first arrived and Sten had questioned the continuing imbalanced state of her health, she had just brushed it off as being an after-effect of one too many "hearty meat stews" which the qunari seemed to be so fond of (and which Kallian had whole-heartedly indulged in). He hadn't appeared convinced, but her obvious joy in all things qunari seemed to override his better judgment.

So it was not so odd that one morning, she had quickly sprung from the bed and dashed to the water closet (the qunari had fascinating inventions, one such being a room containing an open bottomed chamber pot that emptied into some system of trenches below, which one could poor water down to wash clean) as to avoid being sick all over the floor.

With shaky limbs, she had retreated back to her bed, a towel clenched tightly in one hand. She sat there, gingerly on the narrow mattress, and allowed the shades of denial covering her to finally be drawn back. Her mabari had made a whimpering little sound at her, and nudged her with his head, but even petting him seemed like too much effort. Her stomach had begun to roll from something other then nausea as her mind accepted the truth. Which – because the Maker, Andraste, and any other deity or fates that may exist all seemed to have it out for her – was when Sten decided to confront her.

By the entrance to her room, a floorboard had creaked, announcing his presence. She didn't need to look up to know that it was Sten (who else would it be after all?) but that did not stop her from raising wide, frightened eyes to face her friend. His gaze was harsh, arms crossed over his chest. Accusing.

"When was your last moonblood?" No preamble at all. How very _Sten_ of him.

"I-" Her eyes swam with hot tears, she blinked rapidly in a vain attempt to keep them at bay. When the first wet trickle began to trace the curve of her cheek, she bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Crying over physical pain was something that she could handle. The alternative was not. She did her best to meet his penetrating gaze, but found the view blurred. Her head shook rapidly, still trying to deny the truth.

"_Vashedan_!"

The vehemence in his voice broke the floodgates, and she found herself (sickeningly) sobbing into her hands.

Several minutes passed like that, with him standing in the entryway, and her curled in upon herself on the edge of the bed, tears coming in horrid little rivers; her dog licking at her hands. She felt the bed beside her give way as he silently settled down beside her. A large, warm hand tentatively rested on her back in an awkward – and yet still comforting – gesture. Her body sought out more of that comfort as she unintentionally burrowed closer to him, her head tucking itself against his lap. Slowly, his hand began to make tiny (for him, at least) circles on her back, and she found herself dragged into a dreamless sleep.

~~~\/~~~

When she awoke, they had shifted position: Sten had braced his back upon the wall, legs stretched in front of him, and she had folded herself completely into his side. She could hear snuffling by the floor, and knew that her hound had fallen asleep once more. Her heart and head ached, and she was unwilling to disturb the small bit of solitude that she had found. He, however, had no such compunction.

"Based on your reaction, I assume that the child is not the other Warden's."

She shook her head, the rough cloth of his clothing scrapping her raw cheeks with each movement. "It's not possible for two Grey Warden's to have a child."

He made a sound then, not unlike the deep-throated growls her mabari would unleash when his dinner was threatened. "The assassin's then."

The fingers of her right hand clenched in the cloth of his shirt, and she nodded only once.

Sten sighed a full-bodied heave. "What are your intentions?"

She blinked. _What were her intentions?_ She stared forward, letting the silence linger as long as she could. "I have no idea."

"I am unsurprised." He pushed himself up, gently dislodging her from her resting place, and stood from the bed, looking pensive. She waited, her tongue darting out to trace over her wounded lip. "Come, Kadan. You must eat to maintain your strength. Then, we shall head into town. There is a mid-wife that I know from..." He cut off; likely catching the worried look she was wearing at the moment. "She is as kind a soul as you are likely to find in Seheron. She will be able to advise you in this. Now come."

In yet another surprising change of pace for Sten (as if allowing her to cry herself to sleep practically in his lap wasn't enough) he held out a hand to assist her in standing. She stared at the appendage, shock coursing through her. "Okay, who are you and what have you done with Sten?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, "I could ask the same of you. You have spent a great deal of time proving to me that you are unlike most women. And yet, here you are: weeping for things you can not change. And your ability to produce a child seems entirely intact."

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, "Point taken."

She took his hand.

**Seheron: Eight Months after the Fall of the Archdemon**

The mid-wife had not been quite as kind as Kallian had hoped. In fact, the large woman regularly scolded her on taking such poor care of herself during her pregnancy. The number and quality of her insults and recriminations was somewhat impressive. She had even known a choice few elven words, which went completely over Kallian's head.

When they first met, Kallian had attempted to explain the business regarding the blight, the darkspawn, and, _oh yes_, slaying an ancient god residing in a somewhat irritable high dragon – only to have the woman scoff at her. "Such nonsense. You will cease your lies if you wish for our association to continue. Now lay back, and stop fidgeting." Kallian had, grudgingly, acquiesced.

What difference would it make if this woman believed her? Maker knew that half the time she didn't believe herself either.

~~~\/~~~

She had left Ferelden, and more specifically two of its current residents, behind in the hopes that she could determine exactly what it was she wanted out of life. Perhaps it had been a somewhat childish impulse - an attempt to outrun her problems. Outrun her life. Which was an act that could only have two outcomes: either total failure, or total success. The latter of which would ultimately mean that she was dead, and wouldn't be able to enjoy the fruits of her labors.

So, instead, she spent the time trying to live by Sten's philosophy: _It is better to live well, than to live. _

A child had not been in the cards. Nor, did she ever think it would be. But, in an unexpected twist of fate (a concept that had Kallian's life in a very firm choke hold), Kallian found that pregnancy agreed with her. Mostly. The overly lengthy morning illness she had suffered notwithstanding. The pregnancy had brought a kind of focus to her mind that she hadn't felt in ages. She felt energized, and happy. When she wasn't a hormonal wreck, of course.

Sten was – to put it succinctly – a rock during her pregnancy. Like the stalwart warrior that he had proven himself to be again and again during the blight, he managed to withstand all but the worst of her emotional outbursts. At which point, he would vacant the premises for a day or two, a muttered curse beneath his breath. When he would return, he'd always be well-stocked with supplies. She knew enough to merely welcome him back with a nod, and a thanks for the food.

He even managed to withstand the looks and whispers from the villagers regarding the parentage of her child with a minimal of glares. And to the best of her knowledge, there had been only one honor-battle held – in her name or his, she was never quite sure – during the entire time.

It was practically a miracle.

~~~\/~~~

The child, when it came, stole her heart away; as children are want to do. The mid-wife presented the babe to her, lightly swaddled in a soft cloth. From the moment she held her daughter's tiny, wet and wriggling form, she fell in love. Every inch of golden skin, from her teeny toes to the tips of her oh-so-pointed ears, was absolutely perfect.

The babe mewled fretfully at first, discontent with her change in location, before she slipped into a quiet sleep. "_Shanedan_, little one_._" Everything about Kallian's body ached, but in that moment – holding her daughter for the first time, she felt light as air.

Sten had let out a low grumble, "She looks like her father. Let us hope that she has your disposition."

As exhausted as she was, Kallian couldn't help but laugh. The sound briefly roused the babe, who had blinked at her, opening wide eyes the color of warm honey. She couldn't look away.

She named the child Adaia, after her mother.

~TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Denerim: Twelve Months after the Fall of the Archdemon**

Alistair's head was pounding. One of those evil little headaches, where the drumming and hammering in your skull was only bested by the horrid sensation of blood thrumming away in your ears. (He always envisioned a little army of dwarves whacking away at a hundred little anvils inside his brain. Of course, this might have had something to with his first experience with such a headache having followed a night of ale swilling with Oghren.)

Sadly, this particular headache could not be attributed to such a (in relative comparison) pleasurable precursor. No. This particular headache had "Queen" stamped all over it. In bright, jewel encrusted letters. The most recent battle of wills with Anora had not gone well. The woman was simply _insufferable_ when she didn't get her way. This, admittedly, wasn't all that often…but still! He was the _King_. Was he not allowed to exact his authority on occasion?

And really, what did she have against hosting a cheese festival in Denerim? It seemed a perfectly reasonable suggestion from their Orlesian emissary. Wasn't it bad enough that she forbade the servants from serving him any of the lovely soft cheeses from Orlais? Claiming it gave him bad breath? She practically forced him to go sneaking like a thief around his own castle to find the stuff. Did she hate him so much, or was she just pure evil?

_Yes. Yes she is. _He let his head slump like a sack of potatoes to the desk. Perhaps he should just rest for...the rest of the afternoon. That was a sound plan, right? No way he could possibly be disturbed in his private -

"Ahh, Alistair! Just the monarch that I was looking for..."

_Blood and damnation! _With a monumental amount of effort, and a groan to match, Alistair lifted his eyes up to the entryway. There, Zevran lounged. Arms clasped loosely behind him; looking for all the world like he belonged there. "What do you want, Zevran? Isn't there some unsuspecting servant girl in need of your ogling?"

"Well, yes. In point of fact, there are several. There is one in particular, by the name of Carlina – she is the Queen's seamstress – and she has a bosom that could rival even that of our dear friend Wynne for its firm, and yet, supple appeal." Alistair began to sputter, but Zevran kept on speaking – extolling the virtues of Carlina's hips and skin – overly wide smile firmly in place, "But, you are distracting me from my purpose. And as pleasant a distraction as it is, we can discuss the state of my current sexual conquests at another time. Yes?"

He moved fully into the room, striding fluidly over to the desk, and _draping _himself into the seat across from Alistair. _How does he _do _that?_

"I was just passing through the kitchens – you are having a delectable lamb and savory stew for supper tonight by the way – when I happened to come across a missive..." He held out a letter, the seal on it clearly broken; but when Alistair reluctantly reached out for it, the elf snatched it back. "Ah-ah-ah. Not so fast, you shall ruin the surprise."

Alistair reached up to rub his temples. Had he really asked Zevran to stay in Denerim? Had that been him? By Andraste, what had he been** thinking**? Of course, the answer to that question was simple. He'd been thinking of Kallian, and how much easier things would go for her if the other elf remained in the city.

Alistair had known that things would be strained between them for a while. How could it be anything else? True, their break had been…_mutual_ (he bristled at the idea that there was anything mutual about it, seeing as how he hadn't wanted the throne in the first place, and he felt she had left them little choice) but their travel to Redcliffe following the Landsmeet had amply demonstrated how difficult it could be to remain in close quarters with someone you loved, and not act on those emotions. They had given in after only two days of travel.

But then had come Riordan, and Morrigan, and the final push to Denerim, and along with it all a vast ocean of guilty thoughts and feelings surrounding them both. No. It had been obvious that they would both need time, and distance, if they were to ever acclimate to the change in the status of their relationship. If they ever could; he wasn't so naïve as to be certain that it was possible. Still, he had honestly hoped that she would accept the position of Chancellor when he had offered.

The people of Ferelden loved her. _He _loved her. And if he could manage all of this political nonsense without causing the entire nation to crumble around him into ash, then he was certain that she would do even more brilliantly.

While he'd always been somewhat...jealous of her close friendship with the Antivan, he was not so blinded by that emotion that he couldn't see how having the man around would help her to acclimate to the changes in their lives. (Even if the very thought of just _how _he might help her to acclimate left a sour taste in Alistair's mouth.) As much as it pained Alistair to admit it, she had leaned on Zevran as much as she had him – or Sten. Really, he'd always had to share her attentions in that regard. While he may have been the one she took to her bed, he was not the only one to fall for her charms. So the decision to offer a place to the assassin first, hoping it would help lead her own decision making process, had seemed a sound one.

Of course, he hadn't counted on Kallian deciding to go for a joy ride with Sten.

Nor had he expected it to last so long. What, were they taking the scenic route to Seheron? Had she found more strays to collect along the way? Honestly. A simple word…or, or a _letter_. Something in all these months to let him know that she was well, or at least not dead. To tell him that she missed him – them – or to even just yell at him some more would have been – "Oh! Did she – I mean, is that from…where –" Alistair could feel his cheeks warming, embarrassed over how eager he was for news of her. Zevran just laughed at him. _Bastard_.

"Now, now my liege. It is never good to behave as over-eager as a puppy. You do not want to be seen as a pushover to the people."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, "Really? So exactly how would you describe your behavior half the time, if not _over_-eager?"

"That, my friend, is not eagerness. It is confidence. An entirely different beast. As I'm sure you are aware."

"_Riiight._" Oh, he was aware. Like right now for instance, he was confident that if Zevran didn't get to the point soon, he would throttle him. (Which was not to be confused with the fact that he was quite eager to do so.) "What's in the letter, Zevran?" Oh, but his head _hurt_.

"Well, you have correctly deduced that it is from our formerly Fearless Leader. Former leader, mind. Not formerly fearless. Despite the fact that it appears she has run off to join the qunari on a slightly more permanent basis. I suspect living amongst a nation full of Sten's would still require a great deal of courage."

"Run off? I wouldn't exactly say that she's run off..." Finally, he presented the letter to Alistair (Alistair's name in a familiar, stilted scrawl blazed across the top); the look on Zevran's face as he passed it over shuttered, some of its normal spark decidedly missing. Zevran began to speak while Alistair scanned over its contents.

"It would appear that our constant ploys for her affection, have failed. Somewhat spectacularly, I might add."

"They weren't ploys!" Alistair seethed, his heart felt brittle. With effort, he lowered the volume of his voice, lest they be overheard. "At least, not on my part."

"Nor on mine." The look on Zevran's face as he met Alistair's angry stare was intense in its seriousness. The scrutiny between the two of them was short-lived, however, as the Antivan waved off the tense airs with a dismissing motion of his hand. "But still, the fact remains that she is planning to remain in Seheron. Living with Sten."

The letter dropped from Alistair's fingers to the stack of papers scattered haphazardly across his desk. "Indefinitely."

"Mmhmm. But that is not all."

Alistair, blinked, and tried to focus his aching eyes on the elf. "What do you mean? The letter seems pretty to the point."

"And it is. Our Warden was never one to beat around the bush, no? She has always preferred the more direct approach."

There was a knowing look in Zevran's faze that immediately set Alistair on edge. Even more so than simply hearing Zevran refer to Kallian in such a possessive manner. "The point, Zevran."

Zevran pouted, a gesture that was wholly ineffective on Alistair, but one which the elf continued to employee regardless. "You are no fun." He flicked at some imaginary spot of lint on his pant leg, and magically (or so it seemed to the King) produced a second letter, which he twirled about in his hands.

He frowned, "She sent two letters?"

Zevran's tone was clipped, and if Alistair wasn't mistaken, there was a brief flash of hurt across his face. "No. She did not. No, this one is from the Grey Wardens. In Weisshaupt."

"Weisshaupt, but -" Alistair felt his stomach drop. He had dealt with the Warden's as best as he could following Kallian's defeat of the Archdemon. There had been many long, and painful 'discussions' with the Orlesian Commander that had arrived in Denerim just days after Alistair had been crowned. Of course, they wanted to speak with the woman herself. Which was a decidedly impossible feat considering she had left with Sten only the day before the Warden contingent from Orlais had arrived. And if Alistair told them a tiny fib as to where the Hero of Ferelden had absconded to, well, it was just the first of many.

Alistair and Kallian had spoken, at length, only once on the journey from Redcliffe to Denerim. Much to Alistair's dismay, the conversation had focused entirely on what to tell the other Wardens should Morrigan's ritual prove successful (and wasn't that just an awful thought, all on its own?) and they all survived.

The final outcome had been that they would say nothing, apart from: 'We have no idea.' They had considered fabricating some grand tale, especially considering Kallian's _impressive _(and not a litte scary) persuasive abilities. In the end, it was more important that both of them be able to maintain whatever tale they told. For Alistair's sake, that meant that the closer to the truth that they could stay, the safer they would be. Seeing as how they couldn't say for _certain_ that Morrigan's ritual would work, or even be the cause of their success (should that be the case), claiming to have no clue was the best option. Maker help them.

Amazingly, it had seemed to once, his natural tendency to babble when nervous had paid off, and the Warden Commander had concluded that Alistair truly had no clue what had happened, or why they had lived. He hadn't heard any more from the Warden's on the matter. But, if a letter was coming from Weisshaupt, and not out of Amarinthine, this couldn't just be a typical status report. Add to that the fact Zevran was bringing it to his attention, and well...it couldn't be anything good.

Zevran's accented voice broke his reverie, "It would appear that the Wardens are unsatisfied with the information that you have thus far provided. They are intent on speaking to 'the Warden Tabris with all due haste.' They sound rather...put out."

"Well, that's not good."

"Agreed." Zevran twirled the letter once more in his hand before dropping it on the desk. Alistair immediately snatched it up, tearing into it. "You never mentioned that one of you was meant to die when killing the Archdemon."

Alistair's heart jumped into his throat. Really, between his head, his stomach, and his heart – he was feeling quite unwell. The look on Zevran's face was cool, calculating. With maybe just a pinch of angry resolve thrown in. It was a potent combination. Alistair did his best to laugh it off. "Warden secret. You know how it is in these elite clubs." He rolled his hands in front of him, a nervous gesture, "Special handshakes, nasty blood rituals, obliteration of souls for the good of the world. That sort of thing. Quite typical really, I'm sure the Crows weren't a whole lot different."

Zevran didn't laugh. He didn't smile. He just stared. Unmoving. Which might have been the most unnerving thing that Alistair had ever seen the elf – who was perpetually in motion – do. This was saying quite a lot, considering he'd been witness to the elf appearing out of thin air behind a target and beheading them in one quick motion; not to mention the regular, and disturbing images the elf would conjure up (the worst of which involved Zevran, Alistair, Wynne, and a block of cheese). "Obliteration of a soul you say. And the two of you were aware of this _requirement_ when you scaled Fort Drakon to take out the beast?" His accented voice was tight, tension rolling off of him in waves.

Why was he so angry? Shouldn't he have been happy that it hadn't worked? "_Weeell_...Yes. Yes we were, but it didn't work. Obviously. The obliteration part, not the killing of the Archdemon part. That worked rather brilliantly." Alistair couldn't help but to beam at the memory. The sight of her delving her longsword into the great beast had been one the scariest, and most awe-inspiring of his life.

He must have said something to that effect out loud, because Zevran wrinkled his nose in distaste, his next words laced with a biting edge. "Yes, well. I'm certain that it was. Not that I was there to see it myself, of course."

Alistair swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. It shouldn't have surprised him that Zevran was bitter at having been left at the gates in favor of Wynne, but that certainly appeared to be the case. He wasn't sure what to say. The idea of comforting the other man, whose very inclusion in their group (even if he had been considerably more bearable this past year) had always grated on Alistair, seemed foreign. What could he say? _Sorry you didn't get to come along and nearly get eaten by a really big dragon with us! Better luck next time! _No. That simply wouldn't work.

While he was pondering just what sorts of platitudes would be fitting for the situation, the cool, unworried mask that Zevran often wore (and which Alistair could now recognize as such – he may not have been overly willing to call the man a 'friend', but the truth was that he spent more time with the Antivan than anyone else these days, despite Oghren and Wynne's regular presence at the castle; it just seemed that the elf was always the one directly under foot) slid back into place.

"But we are getting off topic again. How good you are at distraction, Alistair! We really should attempt to employ that talent in a more comfortable setting some time... To sum up the current dilemma: we have one wayward Warden vacationing indefinitely – a Warden who very specifically expressed her interest in being as far removed from the Wardens as she could get following the blight." Alistair opened his mouth to interject, wanting to know just how Zevran had heard that bit of news, but Zevran did not allow it, "And a group of those very same Wardens, out for proverbial blood. Hers in particular. I ask you, Your Majesty: what do we intend to do about this?"

Alistair rubbed a hand over his face, and closed his eyes in thought. What should he do about this? _Should_ he do anything about this? Her letter – as succinct as it was blunt – merely stated that she had arrived safely in Seheron, that Sten was back in the qunari's good graces (whatever those might be), and that they had found a small apartment in the city in which to stay. Oh, and by the by, she has no idea how long it will be before – or even if – she will return. So, don't wait up. Was it even his place to interfere anymore, if she truly wished to live with...with _Sten _for the foreseeable future?

The fact that the other Warden's were seeking her out might put a damper on her plans, but was that really his problem? She had sworn an oath after all. No one could just stop being a Grey Warden. Not even Alistair, and certainly not Kallian. But what would happen when they found her (for it was a _when_ situation, and not an _if_)? Would they ask her kindly to join them for a nice round of interrogation? Serve her tea and crumpets? No, more likely they would issue some poorly veiled threats, which she would respond to in her typical fashion. The end result of which would be that she'd be taken – all but in chains – to the Fortress. _And that is simply no way for a woman such as her to travel. _

Alistair use to be disturbed by the fact that the little demon on his shoulder often sounded like Zevran, now it just made sense. "Do you have any suggestions?"

The smile on Zevran's face would have been sinister on anyone else. "My dear King, does Antiva have whores?"

Alistair tried not to grimace. This could only go well. _Right?_

_~ More to come!  
_


	3. Interlude the First

**The Bannorn: The Night before the Fall of the Archdemon**

"Such a sad face on such a lovely woman. This is a crime." Zevran approached her with careful steps, as one would a frightened animal. For that was what she was. She had never done a decent job of hiding her emotions at the best of times, and this was far from the best of anything. Her entire posture screamed out tension and pain. The lack of any visible wound indicated that this pain was an internal one, which in Zevran's experience was far worse. It was a simple task to ease a physical ache. The right salves for a wound, the gentle yet demanding touch of a lover's hand. These things he knew. These things he could offer. And while he'd been a sounding board for Kallian on nights such as these before, nights when self-doubt or recrimination would become too much for their leader and she'd venture off away from the prying eyes and minds of the camp, never before had the wound been so obviously deep.

How does one heal a broken heart? What platitudes and anecdotes could be used to accomplish such a task? Zevran had no experience in this. His own heart had only begun the process of healing after he'd joined the Grey Wardens, in no small part due to their leader. She had shown him mercy, and trust, when he had done nothing to earn either. Readily, she had accepted him; called him friend. But that was the rub, wasn't it? He'd made no secret of his attraction for her, this was true; even if she had turned him down again and again. But he could not discount the role his growing and conflicting emotions for this woman had played in making him whole once more.

One thing was certain, there would be no quick fix. He would offer what help he could though, paltry and ineffective as it may be.

"Good evening, Zevran." There was exhaustion in her voice, the simple greeting coming off cold, and anything but welcoming.

"And good evening to you, my Grey Warden. And what a lovely evening it is." He sucked in a deep, deliberate breath, as he positioned himself to the right of where she stood, staring out over the open and rolling fields. "The air is lush and crisp. As good a night as any for what may possibly be our last, yes?"

She almost, but not quite, smiled. The edges of her softly curved mouth tugging up slightly. The action more closing resembled a grimace than a smile really. _Well – no matter. _He would simply have to try harder.

He crossed his arms in front of him in an imitation of her own closed-off stance, and nudged her gently with his left shoulder. "Come now! Surely you can scent it in the air! Victory is but a long and painful march away!"

This time, she **did **smile. And the expression lit up his soul. "You make it sound easy, Zev."

_Ahh, yes! _The sound of his shortened name was a small victory. "Easy? No. No, no, no. Not easy. Never that. But I do find myself, feeling _certain_ that our – your – victory will come to pass. It feels...inevitable."

"Inevitable?" And she made a face then, not unlike the face she made whenever Oghren cooked – like she was uncertain what it was she was smelling. Her arms dropped from their protective position – another victory – and she turned her body towards him somewhat. "Why?"

He pondered on this for a moment, his gaze focused on the icy waters looking out at him from her sharp-featured face. "You bested me, did you not?"

She laughed, loud and brief, her cheeks coloring beautifully. "No offense, Zev. But you are hardly comparable to an Archdemon."

He splayed his hand across his heart, "You wound me! Here I thought She and I were bosom companions! I had such plans for the two of us..." His face turned serious once more, "My point, such as it is, is that you have vaulted – quite gloriously if I do say so myself - over _every_ obstacle that you have come across so far. You are practically the embodiment of a warrior goddess. To see you on the battlefield is a wondrous thing." She frowned tightly, but he soldiered on. "But it is more than that. One could not accomplish what you have this past year simply by being good with a blade. There are thousands of darkspawn already that can attest to that. No. You also command attention. From the lowliest mercenaries, to the highest ranked nobles."

She looked at him, skeptical, and then made her way over to the sole tree in the clearing, and propped her body against it. He followed at a discrete pace. No use making her feel trapped. "I know that you were mostly focused on cleaving Loghain's head from his shoulders during the Landsmeet, so you may not have noticed. But you...you _shone_ in there. And there was not a noble head who wasn't blinded by its brilliance." Perhaps he was laying it on a bit think, and Maker only knew that had he been speaking about anyone else, three-quarters of what he had said would have been embellishment. But with her...that was not the case. She had rightfully earned every word.

She was not looking at him, her gaze fixed on some far off point, her plump lip being chewed mercilessly between her teeth. A habit of hers that had long driven him to distraction. "Not everyone."

He was caught off guard by not just her statement, but by the child-like way in which she uttered it. She seemed so...lost. "Pardon?"

She turned, laying her back flat against the scratchy bark of the tree; her arms hung limp at her sides, the palms of her hands pressed against the wood. He felt himself tugged ever forward by her gaze, step after step, until he was only a few feet from her. "I said 'not everyone' – there are battles that I have lost Zev...battles that I knew I could never win, but that I fought anyway."

"But you are still here, that is the point."

She glanced away again. "Is it?"

He grasped her chin in his palm, the heat from her skin like a beacon to him. He wanted nothing more than to fall into her. "Yes."

Her head shook silently back and forth – and broke his hold. He allowed his arm to drop like lead back to his side. "I'm not so sure. It just seems..." Her breath clipped off, chin tucking down as her arms crossed over her torso once more. "If I am the victor, shouldn't I be able to keep something that I want? Haven't I _earned _that much?" Finally, emotion was back in her voice, lacing through it with heat and passion. If only, Zevran thought, it was an emotion other then misery.

"To the victor go the spoils, my Grey Warden." It was as close as he could bring himself to acknowledging what they both knew. Alistair, King as he would be, was not a spoil of war to be kept. No matter how much she may have wished it.

When she raised her chin again, it was with purpose. Gone was the frightened, somewhat wistful child of moments before. He stood, entranced by that look wondering just how he'd caught himself in her web, as she reached out one small hand to encircle his forearm. "And what of you, Zev?"

"What of me?" Uncharacteristically, he felt a lump in his throat; some bit of coiling, curling emotion churning its way up from his center. His voice was rough, and low.

She nodded, once. Her hand lightly squeezing his arm, her thumb rubbing gently against the skin. "You are as much a victor in this as me. You have been here, by my side, from nearly the beginning. What is it that you want?" _In reward_. The words were not spoken, but they rung clear as a bell between them.

"Well, I want what I have always wanted. A warm bed draped in the finest silks, a bottle of wine aged to perfection, and a -"

"A warm body to share it with?" The look in her eyes was one such that he had never seen directed at him from her before. There was heat, and abandon in it. They were a predator's eyes, a seductress' eyes. If this was the look that Alistair had been on the receiving end of for so many months, it was a wonder the boy wasn't a smoldering ember of ash.

"That goes without saying, of course." He smiled, a wide disarming smile, and was pleased to see the answering one shining out on her face.

"Of course." She looked down, affording him the chance to catch his breath. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck, the tip of her ear – exposed as it was from the hair trickling down in soft waves over her shoulders. The dark expanse of it highlighting the creamy color of her skin in the dark night. "Zev?"

"Hmm?"

Focused as he was on her delectable looking throat, he did not see her move. It was only when he felt her, pressed up against him in a most intimate fashion that he snapped back to attention. Her one hand was now clenching his shoulder, and her other had risen to cup his face in its palm. Of their own volition, his hands reached out to grasp her, instinctively tugging her closer to him. Even through the armored leathers they each wore, the heat of her was a searing contrast to the cool night air. Her voice was breathy, her mouth only an inch or so from his. "Nevermind."

Then her lips were upon him. Assaulting his senses. The kiss was not perfect. Her lips, chapped. The skin peeled a bit where she always chewed upon it. But the taste was sweeter than chocolate. The cavern of her mouth, lush and inviting. And if there was more than a bit of desperation in it, more than a bit of fear – well, he paid it no mind.

He coaxed her, gentling the kiss, as moment by moment, they relaxed back against the tree. The hand on his cheek moved, a slow easing path, until her fingers were running through his hair, her nails lightly scraping at his scalp A purr rumbled through him at the sensation. He used one of his hands to brace them against the tree, keeping some of his weight from her, while his other plied gently at the hem of her tunic, teasing it up so that he could stroke the skin of her belly, and hip. The answering hum of approval from her more than enough encouragement for him.

Unable to resist the lure of her neck any longer, he broke from the kiss, and trailed a moist path down the slope. Her breath was coming in quick gasps now, her own lips tugging at his ear. Her tongue darting out to swirl at the skin behind it. It was only years of experience that kept his knees from buckling at the sensation.

The hand that had been clutching at his shoulder delved down, over his back and across his hip, before it settled at the waist of his leathers. Her calloused palm dragging gently across the skin there. A growl was pulled forth from his chest, and he dove back into the warmth of her mouth. Their tongues swirling together with growing intensity. His left knee settled in the junction of her thighs, and pressed upwards, releasing a heady mewl from her throat.

His brain skittered to a halt, calling his entire body back to attention, and forcing him to pull back enough to meet her eyes.

The blue of them was darkened to a near black, their lids heavy, and her skin pleasantly flushed as she panted. He wanted nothing more than to ravish her thoroughly. Sadly, somewhere along the line she had taught him the meaning of honor. So he had no choice but to halt the proceedings, and make certain that this was want she wanted.

He may not know precisely how to heal a broken heart, but this – this he could offer. Atypically for him however, he could not yet do so without reservation.

"Are you certain?" His body was confused and angered at the interruption, and without his say so, it revolted from his plans by pressing her tightly between himself and the tree. In response, her own body rubbed up against his, the resulting friction causing delicious sensations to course through him.

Her eyes, unfocused as they were, blinked several times, before they were able to make the seemingly difficult journey from his mouth to his own gaze. "Wha- what?"

"Are you _certain_, Kallian. We can stop this now, but if we go any further, I'm afraid that there will be no turning back." The muscles in his arms and legs were vibrating from the effort not to move.

She bit her lip again, and oh, how quickly that sent the blood southward. There was tension in her posture, but after a moment, she nodded. Her hand teasing the skin of his hip once more. He groaned.

"The words, mi cara." He closed his eyes tightly, waiting for the rejection he was sure would come. Now would be the time that she finally came to her senses, and forced him to play the role of the gentleman once more. Now would be when she realized that Alistair marrying another woman really meant very little. That there was no reason that they couldn't go on as before – albeit more discretely. Now would be the time that he finally turned himself away fully from affairs of the heart.

Her voice, her lovely, often blunt voice, was soft and sweet. And the words a balm he had not quite known he needed. "Yes. I want this – _you_. I'm certain."

He took a second to appraise her. To be sure that she meant every syllable, while he was no saint, neither did he want to be the villain. Not anymore. Not with her.

As he looked upon her, he could no longer sense any doubt – it was as if it had all been erased with her declaration. It was more than enough. Moments later they tumbled to the ground, a tangled knot of limbs and lips – mixed with equal parts of laughter and moans.

And there, in an open field, he made love to her beneath the canopy of a lonely tree.


	4. A Child Unexpected Chapter 3

**Denerim: Fourteen Months after the Fall of the Archdemon**

Unsurprisingly, Alistair was not as open to the majority of Zevran's _suggestions_ as the former Crow would have liked. Alistair may no longer have been the bright-eyed Chantry boy that he once was, but still he held an obvious _distaste_ for the more unsavory aspects of life. Not to mention that the King still held the Wardens in high esteem, and did not wish to do anything that would be truly detrimental to their ranks. This scratched out nearly one-third of his ideas. Which was a pity, as they had all been subtle masterpieces of espionage, intrigue, and – yes – a little bit of sex. But really, what good plan _didn't _involve copious amounts of sex? Nor, did he wish to engage in any acts of overt sabotage, assassination, subterfuge, or anything equally helpful.

He recalled one of his last suggestions: "_It would not do any permanent damage, I assure you Alistair. It would merely be...a long-term incentive if you will. Should they decide to go searching for her again, the pain would flair up, and _presto_ they would find themselves with more, how shall we say...pressing manners. It would be a simple enough spell to perform, if one is willing to pay the right mage the right price." _

"_An apostate, you mean."_

_Zevran raised a brow, "You suddenly have an issue working with apostates, my friend?"_

"_There is nothing at all _sudden_ about it Zevran. I will not employ a maleficar." Zevran had opened his mouth to interrupt, but Alistair cut him off with a raised hand., his cheeks flushed."Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not an idiot. __And I _do _have Templar training. __The kind of magic you are talking about wouldn't require just the average mage. It would require one experienced in blood magic. Not something we are likely to find at the Circle."_

"_I won't deny that the methods of accomplishing this particular task would be looked down upon by the Chantry, Alistair. But, you have systematically vetoed every other option that I have presented. There is only so long that the Wardens are going to buy your continued assurances that Kallian is in the Gamordan Peaks or Llomeryon."_

_The King nearly smiled, "Oh, I don't know. We aren't doing so bad so far. Your forgery skills are really quite top notch." _

_Zevran gave Alistair a tight-lipped smile. "Be that as it may, I do believe we need to start investigating other avenues."_

_Zevran watched as Alistair's face dropped, and he wiped a weary hand across his neck. "Fine. Only...not tonight. I think I've had enough of this for one evening."_

Zevran was practically beside himself with annoyance. It was almost as if Alistair _wanted _the Wardens to retrieve Kallian. He snorted, the thought was actually more probable than anything. Alistair may have claimed to understand _why _Kallian wanted nothing more to do with the Wardens, but Zevran had his doubts. It was clear that the King was still entirely enthralled with the concept of the Wardens – he still wished to be one of their active ranks. Overseeing their growth in Ferelden was one of the few activities he seemed to take distinct pleasure in, even if he only got to do it from the comfort of his throne (something which rankled him to no end, Zevran could tell).

Now that Zevran really took the time to examine the King and his reactions, it seemed most likely that Alistair would think that allowing the Wardens to go after Kallian wouldn't be such a bad thing. He obviously held no ill will towards the order, and it was clear as day to anyone that looked that he wanted her back in Denerim. Perhaps he saw this as the only way to get her back. Back from Seheron. Back from Sten.

Back in his bed.

The thought shouldn't have angered Zevran as much as it did, but the unconscious clenching of his hands into fists was proof enough that would should and shouldn't matter, made very little difference.

He'd managed to keep his opinions on Alistair's poor excuses to himself during their talks (and even managed to make the King of Ferelden blush so furiously at one point, that Zevran wasn't certain the man's cheeks would ever return to normal). He'd even received some mild praise from the man, which was quite the feat in and of itself. All things considered, Zevran wasn't doing too poorly.

But, from his perspective, Kallian returning to Denerim would present an...issue. Not that he didn't long to see her once more, he merely had very little faith in her or Alistair's willpower when it came to one another, and now that Eamon had begun to put heavy pressure on the King to produce an heir...well, Kallian didn't deserve to be witness to that.

If she wished to rejoin the Wardens, so be it. (Although Zevran truly did not believe that to be the case.) But Zevran was not a fool, and he knew that there was some element that he was missing. Something that had to do with the _how _behind Kallian's defeat of the Archdemon. And no, no he decidedly did _not _want to think about how _willing _she seemed to be to throw her life away at the beast. She had left him at the gates. Told him not to worry, that it would all work out. And it had, hadn't it? They'd all made it through. Zevran wasn't sure what was worse, the idea that she went up there planning to die and hadn't told him, or the idea that she went up there _knowing _she wouldn't die, and still not told him. Either option left him in the dark. No. No there was something that neither Kallian nor Alistair was owning up to. Something that they hadn't informed the Wardens about. And if there was something that Alistair was willing to lie about, for this long, then it couldn't be good.

Perhaps it was time that Zevran said his faretheewells to Ferelden, and made his way to the north (it had really been quite some time since he had been to Antiva, after all. And he had always heard how lovely Par Vollen could be in the spring...)

He just needed to pay a brief visit to an oh-so-lovely red-headed elf over in the alienage first, and see if she had any recent news on their wayward Warden to provide.

* * *

**Seheron: Sixteen Months after the Fall of the Archdemon**

In the year plus that Kallian had lived in Seheron, she had secured enough money selling off various articles of armor and weaponry, that when added to the heavy change purse she had received from Alistair before departing Ferelden (for what was meant to be a trip lasting no more than eight months – but which likely could have sustained her for five years, 'Just in case,' he had said…) meant she was not wanting for food or clothing for Adaia or herself. Seeing as how her chosen profession of "warrior" was not acceptable in Seheron, this was a decidedly good thing.

She had managed to make friends with a local armorer; an older qunari with a quiet and subdued demeanor. She had come to meet him through one of the Qun philosophers, and had found in him a bit of a kindred spirit. He was open to discussions with her in a way that she had not realized she'd missed, gone from Ferelden for as long as she had been. Not that she didn't adore Sten. She did. Nearly to a fault. But, she had come to enjoy the crowd – their little merry band of misfits, traveling and conversing all across Ferelden – that the narrowing down of her list of people she was close with to just one, had been a harsh slap of reality. She was happy to expand upon that, however she could.

The smith had lost both his wife and child to a wasting illness several years prior, and was exceedingly tolerant of Kallian's – and later Adaia's – presence in his smithy. So much so that he'd only required a minimal amount of persuasion before he began teaching her how to meld the metal. She found that it was an excellent source of stress relief.

And if she felt more than the occasional twinge of envy that Sten had returned to the Beresaad with little trouble, she kept it tightly bound and gagged.

Most days, after she completed the morning's chores, would find her at the armorer's. On occasion, he would grant her a lesson. Sometimes, however, he merely attended to his work while she watched, Adaia curled in close to her body with the aid of a sling. Unsurprisingly, the babe was able to sleep no matter the racket around her, anvil strikes included.

This day, she was moving through the outermost of the three rooms that made up the smithy, her small well-calloused hands trailing over the various pieces of beaten plates and blades that adorned every available surface – Adaia sound asleep in her sling. (The child was growing faster than elfroot, Kallian feared she would not be able to carry her like that for much longer.) Kallian was drawn to one spot in particular where the outline of a greatsword, now missing, could be seen. The wall was discolored, a slightly more vibrant umber when compared to its surroundings, where the sword had so recently sat. She reached out, trailing her fingers along the edge of the outline, visualizing the sword perched there. It had been an exquisite blade. Nothing flashy, of course. Simple. Refined. Each edge sharpened to perfection, and the hilt larger than anything Kallian, with all her well-honed dual-wielding strength, could ever hope to comfortably grasp. She had no doubt that in the proper hands it would be no less than a battering ram.

The steady, harsh pinging sound of hammer upon molten metal tapered off, and a moment later was followed by the sharp sizzle of the metal being doused in water. She listened as the smith made his way through the back rooms out to the front; his deep, rumbling voice echoing on the walls. "That blade had been a special commission, Ashkaari. From one of the Ben-Hassrath for his first-born son."

Kallian did not remove her eyes, nor her hand, from the wall. "It's been here as long as I can remember."

"Your memory is not very long."

Kallian laughed, and turned an exasperated stare to him. "Fine. It has been here for at least the half a year I have been bugging you."

His yellow eyes narrowed, and his head titled slightly. "You have no insect qualities as far as I can see, Ashkaari.» He peered at her for another moment. "Well, perhaps that pointed chin of yours."

She waved him off, "Its just an expression. It means that I've been a bit of a pest, a...a nuisance."

It was his turn to shrug. He moved over to the work table that housed his wash basin, and began to remove some of the soot from his extremities. "If you were a nuisance, you would not be here." He dunked the cloth into the basin once more, before lifting the soaked cloth to his face, and neck. A low groan greeted her from behind the fabric, causing her to smile.

"Has it only just been retrieved?"

The cloth slipped over the old qunari's face once more before he rung it out over a bucket kept by the side of the basin, and nodded. "Obviously."

"Why?"

"The Ben-Hassrath had it commissioned before leaving for the Hunterhorn Mountains. He has only just returned."

"How long ago was that?" Adaia made a disconcerted grumbling noise, and squirmed slightly from the confines of the sling. Kallian did her best to calm the child, cooing and rocking her gently, as she waited for an answer. When it came, she was surprised by its proximity, as the smith had crossed the distance between them and was watching her small daughter with a far away look in his eyes.

"Long enough for the sword to have left such a mark upon my wall."

Kallian glanced back to the marred wall, and wondered how long such a thing may take. "And the boy?"

A wry grin twisted his features, "Dead. Three years ago. In the service of his Kithshok. It was an honorable death."

She gasped, and turned her eyes back to his, understanding flooding her. "He was a grown man." It was an obvious statement to make, one which Sten would have called her out on, but the smith was a much more forgiving man where such things were concerned.

"Yes."

"Then the father..." Kallian's stomach rolled with unease.

The smith turned his gaze back to Adaia for a moment, pausing briefly before he headed back towards the basin. "Never knew the boy. But the sword was his all the same."

Kallian nodded, her skin suddenly feeling too dry, and her head full of cotton. She knew what swords meant to qunari warriors. Even if she hadn't endured a nearly 30 minute long (which, when given by a qunari, seemed infinitely longer) lecture by the smith when she first made her entreaty to learn his craft from him, her promise to look for Asala, and the outcome of its eventual retrieval had taught her that quite well. Sten had never truly been whole without the blade. Once it was back in his hands, everything about his demeanor changed. It was a subtle change, to be sure. But one that occurred nonetheless. Even when he was not wielding the sword in battle, its presence nearby had an impact on him. If such a thing as souls did indeed exist, she had no trouble believing that Sten's resided in Asala. What must it have meant that the Ben-Hassrath's son had never held his own during his lifetime? The thought caused a curdling sensation inside her. She moved towards the bench, and leaned upon a stool opposite the smith, the feeling of unease unwound slowly when Adaia awoke with a wide yawn.

"It is good that he came and got it then."

"I would have delivered it to him, once I'd heard of his return. It was not mine to keep."

The smith was watching them again, the same familiar look upon his face. She had lost her own mother at such a young age, and it had taken her years to come to terms with that. Now that she was a mother, she couldn't imagine the tables being turned. Couldn't fathom losing her child. No war was worth that. Maybe it was cowardly, or perhaps it was pragmatism. It didn't much matter to her what it was though. She simply knew that leaving her child behind, for any reason, was something that she would fight against for as long as there was breath and blood enough in her body. Watching the smith, she realized that he had that same disjointed look to him that Sten had once upon a time. As if a piece, or pieces, were missing. Even a fool (which Kallian certainly wasn't) could see that the loss of his family had permanently altered him. Altered him in a way that nothing in this world could ever fix.

Kallian admired the strength he had, for she wasn't sure she'd still be standing, were Adaia taken from her.

The smith broke the silence first. "Have you heard back? From your family in Denerim?"

Kallian broke out in a genuine smile, "Oh yes! My cousin's letter arrived only two days ago. She is doing quite well. Causing all sorts of havoc for the nobles, apparently. She seems to take personal delight in irritating the queen, as well. I'd expect nothing less, of course." If she pointedly avoided mention of Alistair it made no difference in these quarters. Her former relationship with the King was not something she spoke of with anyway, save Sten of course.

He raised one dusty, white eyebrow, "And the father?"

She blinked. She forgot how often qunari dug to the heart of things. Made her look positively tactful in comparison. "Oh, I suspect he is doing fine as well."

"You have still not told him."

"I – no. I haven't. Not yet. The situation is rather...complicated."

He huffed at that. "Life is only as complicated as you make it. But, knowing you, that is likely more complicated than the sun rising and setting each day."

"Hey! That's quite unfair. I'll have you know that I do not over-complicate everything in my life."

"No?"

"No." She made sure to hold herself straight, her chin jutting out. The tiny laugh from her daughter as Kallian's hair swept into her face cracking the facade only slightly.

"Hmm. That explains why you spend your days with an old man like me, and not in a happy home."

"I like you."

He nodded his head in Adaia's direction. "One would assume that you also _liked_ her father at one point in time, and yet, he is not here. At your own choosing, I might add."

She could feel the blush rising to her cheeks, and knew that the conversation was in danger of spiraling out of control."Its-"

"Complicated. So you have said. But I counter that sending a letter would be a surprisingly simple task. Certainly simpler than folding metal, which you have managed aptly enough."

She cleared her throat, "Speaking of which, you were going to show me how to work with veridium, weren't you?"

His lip pulled up in a near smile, "Indeed. But after lunch. Your babe is getting restless."

And indeed, she was.


	5. A Child Unexpected Chapter 4

**Seheron: Twenty-two Months after the Fall of the Archdemon**

Sten had only remained in the little apartment they had first moved into for a short time following the birth. Claiming that there was not enough room, he had returned to the barracks. It had been...quieter without him around. True, he never spoke much to begin with, and now there was an infant whose cries could pierce through the heaviest dragonbone plate; but the quiet was more a sense of absence. She missed knowing that he was only a room away, should she have need.

Even so, she suspected that he spent more time at her and her daughter's home than anywhere else. He must have accepted this as well, since he never did remove the portrait of the goosegirl she had given him from its place above the table.

~~~\/~~~

Watching Sten handle an infant was...educational, to say the least. The first time he had 'held' her, he had kept her at arms length, looking at her as if she was some alien creature. A staring match had ensued (or as best of one as a newborn less than a day old could maintain), at the end of which, a crack in Sten's solid surface had appeared; some semblance of an understanding had obviously passed between the two.

When Adaia began to eat solid foods (or mushed foods, really – she had a particular fondness for boiled peas), Sten could be counted on to willingly feed the child, should Kallian be unavailable. He had even on occasion been willing to watch the babe while Kallian had run out to the markets.

This did not mean that he was willing to change any nappies, mind you. His opinion on that being 'a woman's job' was completely immobile. This fact was not surprising. What was surprising was how willing he was to take the often fussy child from her hands, and coax her back to sleep.

~~~\/~~~

She was regularly amazed by how small her daughter was; for nearly the whole first year of her life, Sten was practically able to hold the elven girl in only one of his hands.

Despite the excessive difference in size, he was gentle with Adaia. Patient. Often, she would catch her daughter, sitting up in her feeding chair, mesmerized. Sten would be seated there, repeating words in the qunari tongue over and over again to the babe (this included a liberal smattering of the word 'Sten', which the child had thus far managed to recreate in the form of 'Sven'); or even reciting the occasional passage of the Qun.

One of her last afternoons in his lands was one such time. "So, what exactly is it that you are currently teaching my daughter?"

"We were discussing the sixth covenant of the Qun." He looked utterly at ease, sitting on the bench before the child, armor discarded in favor of more relaxed clothing, a bowl of porridge sitting on the tray between them.

She propped herself up against the counter, hands held loosely in front of her. All the time she'd spent talking with the Qun philosophers, and she never did quite manage to learn all of the passages. "Which is?"

Sten opened his mouth to answer (or make some wholly accurate remark regarding her memory, it was typically a toss up with him) only to be subverted by her daughter, who chose that moment to hurl a spoonful of mush at Sten's face. It was a testament to his affection for the girl that he only blinked. One violet eye poked out from the dripping porridge, as he quietly grabbed a towel to wipe himself clean. Her daughter giggled the entire time, a tiny fist bunched up by her mouth. Her mabari pounced on the drippings that slithered down the side of the chair and onto the floor, tiny stub of a tail wagging all the while.

A knock rumbled through the house, and Kallian struggled through her own laughter to undo the lock and open the heavily paneled door, revealing a wraith-thin and wiry elf on the other side. His face was sallow, and he looked as if he could use several decent meals; but his eyes were bright. She rarely saw anyone who wasn't qunari these days, so the sight was a welcome change. He had a large carryall sack thrown over one shoulder. A messenger then. Perhaps he was bringing word from Shianni, or her father. It had been some time since she had received any news from home.

She smiled widely and tucked a lock of fallen hair back behind her ear, "Yes, can I help you?"

"Are you the Warden Tabris?"

Her smile, along with her feelings of goodwill, dissolved abruptly, and she brought her body to attention. She stole a glimpse to the left and right outside her door, looking for any evidence of an ambush. Nothing was immediately visible, however the heavy shadows cast across the building from the mid-day sun left ample positions for someone lying in wait. Behind her, she heard the chair scrap the floor, and knew that Sten had moved to stand protectively in front of Adaia.

"Depends on who's asking."

The man clipped his heels together, and presented her with a scroll. "You've been summoned to appear before the Warden's of Weisshaupt, ser."

She relaxed marginally then, "Oh. This again. Here, give me the letter." She scanned the contents: it was the same old drivel. "Hmm. I'm assuming that you can deliver a message back to them?"

The messenger appeared slightly regretful when he spoke, and he looked briefly to his left, "Actually, ser...It was made **quite** clear to me that a return reply is not permissible. You are to travel to the compound with all due haste. I am...not permitted to return without you in tow." It was at that point that another, broader shouldered man with a maul strapped to his back stepped out from the shadows blanketing the side of her home; the sun illuminated only half of his face.

_So, not just a mere messenger. __Figures. _She crossed her arms in front of her; in her periphery she noted that Sten had gathered her daughter up, and move her into the other room. Brilliant man. "I see. Now tell me, did they explain to you just what it tastes like when you swallow your own tongue?" Her mabari squatted by her side, a low growl in his throat, causing the other elf to flinch.

"Wha -no. No." The messenger was sweating now. Good. She could work with this.

Unfortunately, the dark-haired man behind him chose that moment to take a step forward, revealing the crest of the Warden's emblazoned on his armor. "There is no need for threats." His accent identified him as Orlesian, and his smile was as poor an imitation of a charming leer as ever there was. Smarmy; that was the word. His dark and hooded eyes darted to Sten, who had come to stand in an imposing fashion (which was really his default stance) just behind her. "We are all civilized folk here, after all."

_Riiight_.

The Orlesian Warden clapped a hand on the messenger's shoulder, his eyes darting briefly to the hound by her side, who responded by dropping his ears and pulling back his lips. The Orlesian merely blinked. "But you must understand our position. We have spent more than a year searching for you. You ought to be thankful to your good friend the King of Ferelden. He has sent us on many a wild goose chase after you." Kallian had the decency to blush. "So you can see how happy we were to uncover your true address." He gestured somewhat disdainfully at her home. "Then, only to have you rebuff us at every turn, well...you must understand how it seems. Records indicate that we have contacted you by letter no less than once per month for several months. And all of our requests have been returned with poor and often… ridiculous excuses."

Sten grumbled, "Multiple requests. Is this true, Kadan?" The undercurrent of disapproval in his voice was quite evident to Kallian. It had never sat well with him how she had so easily shirked her duties to the Wardens. She was positive that he only allowed her to get away with it the way that he did because of Adaia. Her hound leaned against her lightly, a soft pressure against her thighs; she couldn't help but to be thankful for the support.

The man before her maintained a non-threatening posture; all of the challenge resided solely in his eyes. As if he too was judging her for choices he knew nothing about. Maybe they were right. She felt some of the fight drain out of her as she spoke over her shoulder to Sten, "Yes. It is. But-" She held up a hand to halt any interruption and turned back to the messenger and the Orlesian: "I _did _actually have quite a valid reason for not traveling at the time."

The other Warden frowned. "A valid reason as to why you have been unable to travel to headquarters for the requested debriefing, since the death of the Archdemon? For nearly two years? Truly? None of the information that you provided in your letters would suggest that to be the case. In fact, I believe two of the replies indicated that you were 'procuring supplies of a most precarious and uncooperative nature.'" Oddly enough, there was a trace of humor in his voice as he spoke. Perhaps the stick she assumed was lodged far up his ass wasn't so large after all. "And a third detailed that you had contracted a 'rare form of Antivan Flu.'" Sten's snort at that was powerful enough to rustle the hair on her head, but it didn't deter the Orlesian one bit. "And so on. Shall I continue?"

"No. There is no need. I am well aware of what I wrote. Including the more...outlandish bits." She pulled her lower lip in between her teeth, a horrid habit that she had never been able to get over. Just how honest should she be here? Her first instinct was always to subvert the truth, and only provide as much detail as necessary, but that tactic always left her drained. Perhaps it was time to go with a full-on frontal assault of the truth. She certainly wasn't ashamed of her daughter – perhaps clearing the air would work in her favor. Decision made, she continued. "For what it's worth, I do apologize. But you see, I had very little choice but to...fabricate my excuses, as I couldn't very well explain the _real _reason for my reluctance to travel in a letter."

The man looked thoughtful, and spread his hands out to his sides in a welcoming gesture. "Please, enlighten me. I am all ears."

She sighed. "Obviously, even before the letters arrived, I had not contacted the Wardens, as I'm sure you are aware." The man nodded, a skeptical look upon his face. "I had every intention of doing so, once I had gotten a chance to catch my breath – a year of near constant battle is quite taxing, I can assure you."

"Yes, I believe that it would be." His posture was a bit less tense now, good. The little fib about her having planned to contact them obviously went unnoticed (well, except by Sten, who grumbled beneath his breath when she got to that part).

"The fact of that matter was that shortly after arriving here in Seheron, I learned that I was with child. Travel of any sort was out of the question after that." She cocked a brow at his surprised expression, "In addition to the bandits that litter the highways, there are still several people throughout Thedas who would wish me harm. _Ser_. Which is why I was careful to not mention her existence in any document traveling unsecured routes."

"I see." He studied her face for several long moments; likely trying to decipher if she was lying or not. If the scandalized look he wore when he glanced to Sten was any indication, he believed her.

Sten groaned. She regretted that the implications of the Orlesian's look had long since become common place for him, "No. I am not the father."

The man seemed genuinely relieved. "Then who-"

"That's not important." She felt a headache coming on.

The Orlesian nodded his agreement. "Quite right. If I may – how old is the child now?"

The question, as innocent as it appeared on the surface, was pointed. But she could see no benefit in deflecting the issue. "She is a little over a year."

He nodded, Kallian tried (and failed) to read the look in his eyes. There was something there, some hint of emotion that she could not quite grasp. It was maddening to her that her skills at reading people had apparently dulled so much during her time spent with the qunari. They really were open books, once you got to know them a bit, made life so much simpler. Even if it was causing her problems now. "And do you believe that she is old enough now to handle traveling?"

She chewed on her lower lip once more, the poor thing swollen and chapped as a result, her eyes shifted to Sten's for a moment, but she found no help there. "I don't suppose that there's any way I could convince you to just ask me whatever questions you need to right now and let us alone, could I?"

The man actually laughed, and the sound, genuine as it was, helped to allay some of her fears. "Unfortunately, I know absolutely nothing about what it is they wish to talk to you about. Not specifically at least. I'm little more than a messenger myself. I assure you that I _do _know who you are, and what you have accomplished. Every Warden does."

"Lucky me." This was just getting worse and worse.

"The trip will be as trouble-free as possible, I can promise you that. I am traveling with a convoy by ship; we have been on route for some time – a quick side trip to Par Vollen notwithstanding – and are scheduled to head back to the mainland next. There are three other Warden's with me. Your daughter could not be better protected."

Sten chose that moment to speak up. "I doubt that."

She smiled, swallowing down the brief flare up of nausea that had come with the mention of a ship. "How long before your ship leaves?"

The Orlesian relaxed, "Well, that depends a bit on you. We can be ready to depart in three days time. If that would suit? We need to restock, and there is some business we must attend to with the Arishok as well. Once that is done, well..."

She nodded. "That should be fine."

The man's eyes widened considerably. Near-immediate cooperation was obviously not what he had been anticipating. There was a shift to his stance that made Kallian curious, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Good! I daresay, the others will be overjoyed to make your acquaintance. You are something of a living legend in Weisshaupt you know."

The words chilled her. "That's what I'm afraid of." She spoke in a mutter, shaking herself of her nerves. "But no matter. I will meet you at the docks in three days time."

"The ship shall set sail just before mid-day. You may ask for me. My name is Declan. The men at the docks will be able to direct you. Do try not to be late." He bowed, slightly at the waist, and turned on his heals. The still somewhat frightened looking messenger elf followed closely behind. Kallian wondered why they had even bothered with the subterfuge, given how fast they had dropped the act. It was certainly strange.

As she watched them leave, her hound left her side finally – obviously sensing the danger had passed – and wandered to the back room where Adaia was, pawing at the door until the latch gave way and he was able to get inside. After a minute of making sure that the other Warden was well and truly gone, Kallian closed the door, the clang of it reverberating around the tiny room. She leaned back into the heavy wood, eyes closed. Sten's crossed arms and disapproving glare greeted her upon their opening. It was a highly familiar sight.

"You intend to go with them?"

"I do."

"Why?"

She blinked. The idea of Sten questioning her on (finally) fulfilling her duty to the Wardens seemed absurd. "I have a responsibility, Sten."

"You have spent the last two years avoiding them at all costs. It is...curious that all it took for your feeling of 'responsibility' to return were several unsecured missives and one knock at the door."

She brought a hand up to her head, hoping to rub away the ache. "It's not quite so simple, you know."

"I do. You have a child now. Rejoining the Grey Wardens at this juncture would not be wise."

"I can't keep living my life in hiding, Sten."

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Funny. I recall having said the same thing on numerous occasions, only to have you do your best to prove me wrong."

Heat suffused her cheeks. It was true; Sten had attempted to goad her into doing _something_ time and again. The problem was that he typically hadn't attempted to convince her to leave Seheron, or return to her old life, or anything of the sort. Rather he had repeatedly tried to convince her to contact Zevran. (He may never have learned to like the Antivan, but he did not feel it was right for him to be kept in the dark such as he was.) And that was just something she wasn't ready to do. Not that she didn't think of it. Often. (How could she avoid thinking of Zevran when her daughter bore such a striking resemblance to him?) It just – it wasn't something she was prepared to deal with. Not yet. And although Sten disagreed with her decision to not inform Zevran about Adaia, he allowed the decision to be hers alone. Something for which she was continuously thankful.

She spread her hands out wide by her sides, palms open and facing outward. "What would you have me do, Sten? Fight them? They'd only send more. And that would only put Adaia at a greater risk."

He huffed, and rose his arms to cross over his chest. "And how does transporting her to Weisshaupt mitigate that risk?"

Again, she pulled that lip of hers in between her teeth, chewing it to within an inch of its life. The truth was that she hated the idea of leaving. To the point that the thought of it made something very close to fear swirl in her belly. Allowing that emotion to take control was not an option, and all her life had taught her that fighting what you fear was always the best course of action. "I _need_ to go, Sten. Delaying it any longer would be...unwise. You must see that. And I don't see a while lot of options, other then bringing her with me." She knew, no matter how he might feel about the child, that he would never offer to watch after her for an indefinite period of time. Nor would she ever ask. Leaving her daughter...well, it simply wasn't going to happen. Apparently, he was thinking along the same lines.

"Hmph. Perhaps if you had informed her father of her existence, this would not pose such a dilemma."

Kallian ran her hand through her hair, her back still pressed to the wooden door. She tried, and failed, to imagine Zevran living some domesticated life. With her. And Adaia. Tied down. After Taliesin's death, Kallian had released Zevran from his oath to her, and the look upon his face as he realized for the first time that he was well and truly _free_ had been brighter than the noon-day sun. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel bound to her over one night of passion. They had made no claims to each other, and she wanted him to enjoy his freedom for as long as he could. He had earned that much.

She raised her eyes to Sten, the hardness in his violet ones had softened some since last she had looked. "This would all be so much easier if you were her father, you know. There'd be no need for awkward conversations then."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You would have changed your mind during the birth."

The laughter that overtook her nearly drowned out the sound of knuckles rapping against the door. "Ugh!" She threw her hands in the air. "What now?" She turned swiftly, and yanked the door open, hard enough that it nearly hit the opposing wall, a scowl etched on her face. "This better be goo-"

"Ahh, how I have missed that look of annoyance, my dear Grey Warden."

The blood drained from her face, as her hands fell limply by her sides, "Zevran?"

He bowed deeply at the waist, and grabbed one hand as he rose, his warm lips placed a moist kiss to her fingers, "You were expecting someone else, I presume?"


	6. A Child Unexpected Chapter 5

**Denerim: Fourteen Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

Shianni had been surprisingly unhelpful. Well, at least as far as she her words were concerned. For someone as skilled in body language as Zevran, Shianni's body had spoken much more loudly than her tongue ever could.

Zevran had made a point of visiting with Kallian's cousin at least twice every fortnight since he had taken up residence in Denerim. There was, after all, only so many hours in a day he could entertain himself by verbally torturing Alistair, or flitting from bed to bed (or to the occasional desk or bath) with the lovely bed-partners he had collected since he'd planted roots. And visiting with Cyrion and Shianni always left him feeling a bit more refreshed.

Not only was it enjoyable to spend time with elves that were not meek servants, but it was wonderful to spend time with _her _family. He had gotten on well enough with Cyrion when they first met, and Shianni was a delicious fire-cracker. (Not that she had ever succumbed to his advances; he suspected that he might actually have more of a chance bedding the king then Kallian's cousin, for all the interest she seemed to show in him.)

While Zevran hadn't really believed that Shianni would be able to provide him with any overly useful bit of information, he had hoped that she could shed some light on Kallian's choices. As he had suspected, she'd been in fairly regular contact with her cousin via letters.

The red-head had avoided eye contact with Zevran for nearly the entire duration of the conversation, which wasn't very long to begin with, _"I'm sorry, Zevran, but I really _am _running quite late. Perhaps we could get together for lunch, or perhaps dinner, nearer to the end of the week. I don't have much news to give you about Kallian – but, we could catch up. I'm certain that Soris and Cyrion would love to speak with you again as well."_

He'd managed to avoid giving an answer regarding the dinner, and watched as she near scampered out of the room, but not before giving him a pitying look.

The woman was hiding something, something which she felt both stressed and weighed down by; but try as he might, he couldn't breach her defenses.

If he'd had no luck with her, he was positive that his luck with Cyrion would have been even worse.

Wholly unsatisfied, but not wishing to delay any longer, Zevran packed what few belongings he deemed worthy enough to bog him down, and skipped out of the city on the next barge heading for the Free Marches. From there, he made his way, slowly but steadily, into Antiva.

* * *

**Antiva: Eighteen Months after the Fall of the Archdemon**

The change in scenery as he entered his homelands acted as a tonic for a troubled soul. He hadn't quite realized how much he had longed for Antiva while he was away. It was simply not something he dwelled overly long on, not when there were so many more interesting ways to spend his days and nights.

Being forced to make the last portion of his journey home by land had taken a great deal longer than he would have liked, and by the time he arrived in Antiva City, he was completely drained and travel-weary. And wanted nothing more than a warm, overly-large, bed and a hot bath. Not necessarily in that order. Luckily, he knew just the place to find both; and happily enough, it came with plenty of companionship as well.

Over the next few days, he found himself reveling in the sights and sounds and tastes of his homeland. The air was rich with caramel and leather. The women and men, dashing and devious in equal measure. And now that he had something to compare it to, he could clearly see how much the blight had ravaged Ferelden. For here, in Antiva, the world was vibrant, lively. There was character to be found everywhere you turned. Even the ramshackle buildings in the seedier portions of towns were bursting with it. There was a subtle joy to be found in these familiar haunts, and the urge to stay in lieu of pressing on was a strong one.

He probably should have anticipated the less than stellar welcome the Crows would have in store for him, however, and taken precautions. Living in Ferelden for so long had clearly dulled his sense of treachery.

It took him a number of months, and not a little spilt blood (mostly not his), along with a sizable amount of gold (mostly Alistair's), before Zevran had been able to get passage out of Antiva.

He left a considerable hole in the Crow infrastructure by way of a parting gift.

* * *

**Seheron: Twenty-two Months after the Fall of the Archdemon**

In an exceedingly rare case of luck, Zevran's ship arrived in port just a few scant hours behind another, larger vessel. A vessel with an over-sized cargo hold, and several blades-for-hire guarding the lowered planks.

Most importantly, however, were the scattered men milling upon the docks, two of which sported shields emblazoned with the Grey Warden's crest.

While there was the slightest of chances they were for here for a reason entirely separate from his own, Zevran had to acknowledge that this was rather unlikely.

If they were in fact here for Kallian, however, the small size of their band was at least somewhat heartening. They could not seriously mean to take her by force with such a small number.

If that was their plan, then they were in for quite the surprise. This was a situation that he could work with.

~~~\/~~~

Zevran blended into the shadows seamlessly. The skill was second nature to him now, and one which he was careful to never allow to rust. One must always take care of one's weapons after all.

He followed, several paces behind, taking in the nervous twitches and gestures of an elf, and the darting eyes of a (not quite careful enough) Warden as he followed. Though Zevran had never before been to Seheron, it was obvious that the other elf at least had. His steps were sure, if shaky, and he did not hesitate at any turn.

Before long, Zevran found himself, tucked down behind a pulling cart, well masked by stealth, and the shadows cast by the noon-day sun, in a perfect position to see the Warden fall back into a similarly hidden position, and the elf pressed forward, tugging on the bag slung low over one hip. Zevran's hand twitched over one of his concealed daggers, making certain it was well within reach. Just in case.

Despite the fact that it was only logical that the house they were perched in front of would belong to Kallian, Zevran was still wholly unprepared for the range of emotions that the sight of her smiling countenance opening the door caused inside him.

Trepidation. Longing. Frustration.

Joy.

A slow warmth began to build in him as he watched her smile at the other elf in greeting. The sound of her voice amplified in Zevran's long-deprived ears.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Are you the Warden Tabris?"

"Depends on who's asking."

_Ah, how I have missed that curt tone. _Truly, he had not realized how much until that very moment. Watching her good humor towards the messenger fade, and be replaced by annoyance, and then – oddly – relief. Zevran was momentarily puzzled until her words finally registered. _Ahhh, So Alistair's subtle machinations to keep the Warden's away from our Tabris failed some time ago. I wonder if the poor fool is still sending his false leads?_ If only the Good King had been amendable to Zevran's suggestion of a binding. Or any of his suggestions at all, really, besides sending **notes. **

"I see. Now tell me, did they explain to you just what it tastes like when you swallow your own tongue?"

_Oh, Kallian. What a dazzling whirlwind you would be if let loose in Antiva..._

Apparently, the threat to the messenger's life is quite enough for the shadow skulking Grey Warden from the docks, for he chose that time to intercede. Had Kallian not looked so undeniably menacing at that moment, eyes ablaze, and arms crossed, Zevran might have interfered. As it was, he was delighted merely to watch. And wait.

The mabari at her heels was soon joined by a very familiar qunari, standing just a step behind the woman of everyone's interest, talking in low tones so that the Antivan could not quite hear. There was a brief jab of ice in Zevran's heart when he noted the other man, but it was gone so quickly, that it was barely worth noting.

The next word's from Kallian's mouth sent the world tumbling out from under him however. _A child? She has a child? Shianni, you are a better liar than I have given you credit for... _His eyes darted to the qunari's face searching, disbelieving, and then (finally) closed briefly with relief.

So, the child was not Sten's. And, over a year old, it would seem. The vague timeline was little use for clarification on who the father might be, however. Assuming a normal birth, that could mean that the child had been conceived anytime from two months prior to the battle with the Archdemon, until several months after. There was simply no way to know unless she chose to impart that wisdom on the Orlesian questioning her. And judging by the scowl on her face, Zevran did not think that likely to occur.

As quick as it had appeared, the scowl was dropped, to be replaced by the gentle chewing of her lower lip. Zevran's whole body nearly sighed with relief at seeing the familiar gesture.

"How long before your ship leaves?"

_What?_ She could not possibly be serious. Was she actually planning to travel to Weisshaupt? What was the purpose of all of this deception if she was just going to give in at the first bit of pressure?

"We can be ready to depart in three days time. If that would suit? We need to restock, and there is some business we must attend to with the Arishok as well. Once that is done, well..." The Orlesian's voice trailed off, but Zevran could see the tension still holding him. The man was definitely weaving a tale. A last minute one, if the hesitation in his voice was anything to go on. _But what is the purpose if she is so willing to go?_

She nodded. "That should be fine."

There was a shift to the Orlesian's stance that set off alarms in Zevran's mind. His hand closed around his dagger, and he took on step forward, preparing to strike should the need arise. No sooner had he done so, however, then the other man relaxed his form, and Zevran fell back to the shadows.

There was no immediate threat, but something was off about the Orlesian. There was some bit of information that he was privy to, and which he was deliberately not imparting. Something which he attempted to cover up via lofty compliments and platitudes.

To his credit, he did appear to do so successfully. Either Kallian was too distracted, or she was slipping. Both options were equally poor signs.

"You may ask for me. My name is Declan." Oh, Zevran would be asking, that was for certain.

He waited, silent as a wraith, and watched as the messenger and the Warden retreated at a brisk pace. The other elf attempted to question the Warden, but was swiftly silenced. The smart choice at that moment would have been to follow the pair, and discern want he could about their intentions. All of Zevran's training and skills screamed for him to do so. There was no logical reason for him to walk up to Kallian's door and rap on the wood panel instead. Absolutely no logical reason at all.

Perhaps Zevran had spent more time with Alistair than was advisable, for it was exactly the sort of thing that the bastard King would do.

The door swung wide, her irritated voice echoing over the threshold. "This better be goo-"

"Ahh, how I have missed that look of annoyance, my dear Grey Warden." The smile that stole across Zevran's face was genuine. It had been far too long since he had stood before her.

It would have been impossible to miss how all the color drained from her sun-kissed face, or the way her hands fell like lead by her side. It chilled him considerably. Was the sight of him at her door sincerely so much more daunting than the Warden's that had just passed? "Zevran?"

Never one to let an opportunity to touch her pass him by, Zevran bowed deeply at the waist, and grabbed one hand as he rose. His lips tingled where they caressed her skin. "You were expecting someone else, I presume?"

Color returned to her cheeks full-force as he let her hand slip, somewhat regretfully from his hold. "I – what are you...how did you...I can't believe..." She stuttered and stammered all over her words, seemingly bewildered.

While he had not been expecting her to greet his arrival with trumpets or fanfare, neither had he expected her to seem so lost at his mere presence. A part of him yearned for the easy camaraderie they had once shared, while another part of him (the part that would never admit to the bitter feelings of rejectionhe felt) wanted to revel in her discomfort. The former won. This round at least.

He let go of a laugh, and leaned his body against the entry, one ankle crossed over the other so that his foot just barely touched hers. "I do not believe I have ever had the pleasure of seeing you so tongue-tied before, Warden. Well, apart from once." He let his eyes dart down her body, enjoying the way the dress that she wore (a garment he never imagined to see her in) fitted around her curves, before locking them on the blue-depths that had so mesmerized him once upon a time.

The blush that had previously stained her cheeks doubled, if only for a moment, before she seemed to catch herself in his stare. "I see you haven't changed a bit, Zev." His nickname on her lips set his blood briefly aflame.

"One does not alter perfection, my lovely Warden." This time the blush was bashful, nearly as sweet as the crystalline laugh that accompanied it, it was a wonder to behold. "I do believe you were trying to ask me why I was here, yes? Perhaps we can discuss the particulars from within your home?"

"Oh. Oh! Oh, yes. Please – uh, please come in." The expression on her face was curious. Her emotions flickered almost too quickly for Zevran to notice, but he still was able to perceive the undercurrent of fear in her eyes. His own defenses began to rise, subconsciously, as a result.

She let him pass through the door, closing it slowly behind her. He took a moment to smile crookedly at Sten, who had as yet not spoken a word (not so unusual), and was surprised when the large man greeted him with a slight bow in return, his violet eyes as off-putting as ever. Although perhaps a bit more so now than before, as they seemed to be gauging Zevran on a level that the qunari had never before deemed Zevran worthy of; he had seen the stare directed at Alistair a time or two in the past however.

_How very interesting. _

Zevran swiftly took in his surroundings: small, humble, but homey. There was an elevated chair with a tray strapped to it, a tipped over bowl of some sort of gruel decorated its surface. A feeding stool for Kallian's child, no doubt. There were small toys scattered about, but overall the room was clean. Orderly. A painting that Zevran recognized decorated one wall; overall the home seemed to suit both Kallian and Sten.

He was entirely uncertain how to feel about that.

He turned, just in time to see Kallian pull back from the door, the fact that she must have had her forehead pressed against it seconds before did not pass him by. His feelings of unease were beginning to grow at exponential rates.

"So, Zev. What brings you all the way to Seheron?" She moved, slowly away from the door, and crossed to the other side of the small space, picking up things as she went. He watched her, a hawk's eye. The tremble in her hands belying the steadiness of her words.

Sten scoffed. Her question seemingly as ridiculous to him as it was unnecessary to Zev. "Hmm, I could claim that I was merely passing through, but such an ugly lie that would be. In truth, I have spent much longer in Ferelden with the Good King," And here, her hands paused in their movements for just a moment; quickly, she moved forward and grabbed for a fallen sock, "than I had ever intended. So I decided that a return trip to Antiva was in order, but...circumstances there are less than ideal at the moment. As it turned out, there was a boat leaving precisely when I was, bound for these lands. A rather serendipitous turn of events, I should say."

This time it was a snort that passed from Sten, as he crossed his arms and leaned back on the wall beside the painting. "Indeed."

Zevran tossed a smirk at Sten. A raised eyebrow was his reward. Breathing in deep, he stepped forward and placed a hand over Kallian's where it clutched at the sock. "It has been too long, my friend."

Her eyes, which had been scattered and nervous since his arrival, warmed a bit as they looked at him. He felt some of the knots tied about him loosen, ever so gently.

A light scuffle sounded from the room off the left of the small kitchen, followed by a familiar 'woof' that made Zevran smile in memory. A moment later the door, which had been slightly ajar, was pushed further open by the hulking beast of a mabari. While he had of course taken note of the hound from his spy-perch outside, he saw no reason to tip his hand just yet and reveal his earlier presence. "Ahh, I see Sten has not had you entirely to himself after all." Zevran's head tilted as the dog meandered slowly out of the other room. "Although, your pup does not appeared to have fared well."

Kallian looked confused, as she glanced over towards the dog, who had stopped in the doorway momentarily, head turned behind him. "What do you mean?"

Turned as his head was now, the dog looked as if he was nipping at his own hind quarters. "He appears to be limping."

"What?" And this time she turned fully, her hand falling away from Zevran, and took a step towards the mabari in concern. She came to a stiff halt, however, when the dog pulled forth out of the room, a small toddling child clutching the fur of the hound's hindquarters.

A small _elven _child.

A small, _blonde_, elven child.

Zevran's brain began churning over the facts as fast as he could. His eyes darted over the little girl's features as she grappled with the beast's fur, using him as a walking stick as she waddled on small unclothed feet across the floor boards. Zevran felt his entire body seize up when she turned eerily familiar amber eyes (that were just a tad oversized for her head) on him for a moment, before passing him by and focusing on Sten. At which point she smiled a dazzling, tiny-toothed smile and Zevran's heart started beating again.

She relinquished her hold on the pup in favor of tossing both hands up at the qunari. "Sven, story!"

Sten glanced from the child, over to Kallian, his unblinking gaze met Zevran's for less than a moment, before he bent down and swooped the child up into his arms. "An excellent plan, _Imekari._ " The sound of the child's tinkling laughter filled the room. With nary a glance back, Sten exited the kitchen and entered the room the child and mabari had vacated. He left the door slightly open behind them.

A bucket of ice-water. That was what it felt like to Zevran. He was drenched in cold. The child was small, beautiful. She had Kallian's smile – brighter than any sun. And she was...the child undeniably was...

"Mine. She's mine." His voice was dry, his throat scratchy, as if he hadn't had anything to drink in weeks. And for all that he could no longer recall any moment before this one, it was quite possible he hadn't.

Kallian pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth in an expression that was as familiar to Zevran as the moon, and nodded. "She is."

Zevran could only blink. So that was what it meant to have the floor fall out from under you. As he grasped a hold of the chair in front of him, he found the dizziness that overtook him to be a distinctly uncomfortable sensation.

~TBC


	7. A Child Unexpected Chapter 6

**Seheron: Twenty-two Months after the Fall of the Archdemon**

Kallian was unsure what to make of the look upon Zevran's face. His eyes were two honey-colored saucers – staring unwaveringly at the slightly-ajar bedroom door which Sten and Adaia were now secured behind. She swept her gaze over him, allowing herself a moment's pleasure at the sight of him within her home. So near to her that she only had to reach out...

But no. His hands were clenched around the back of one of the kitchen chairs, knuckles white and fingertips overly pink from the pressure he was exuding. His body nearly vibrating with tension.

"You – we have a child. A...a daughter." Still, he remained focused on the other room. It made Kallian both nervous and grateful. An overly odd combination to say the least.

"Yes. We do."

His tongue snuck out, and swiped over his lower lip. "What is her name?"

"Adaia."

He breathed out then, _finally_, and turned his eyes to her, their stare molten. "After your mother."

The air he had just released was quickly sucked into her own lungs. _He remembers...? _"Yes. After my mother."

"Why..." He turned back to the other room, and she watched as his hands flexed against the wooden chair. He took a moment, to compose himself. Eyelids closed briefly, long lashes skirting against one another. He rolled his shoulders back; some of the stiffness in his body seemed to dissipate with the motion. "I never received word."

Kallian turned from him, reaching out to gather the small pile of clothes that had accumulated on the table. Three steps took her past him, his scent – that heady combination of leather and spice – assaulting her senses, but she succeeded in her task. Crossing the room to the clothes basket, she dropped the items in, her back still to him. She steeled herself for his reaction. "I never sent it."

There was a bitter laugh; it sounded nothing like Zevran's, but it was his all the same. "Ahh, surely you jest. Maybe it was just a small thing. A tiny inclusion in one of the many letters to your cousin, perhaps? Something that just managed to be missed?"

The sarcasm made it easier to face him, "No. It wasn't missed." She breathed deeply, hoping to keep her emotions tightly controlled. (The qunari always made it seem so easy, she wished it had rubbed off on her a bit more.) Zevran was struggling, she could tell, and some dark and prideful part of her didn't want to be the one to break first.

"So Shianni doesn't know of our child?" The way he said 'our' caused warm waves to flood her face. "Nor your father? You've kept such news from your family as well?"

"No. I didn't. They know of her." Straight to the point. There was no reason to deny anything further, not with him standing in her home, and the subject of their discussion only a dozen feet away.

"So it is only me that you have lied to then?"

She bristled, "I never lied to you, Zev."

"Zevran." The ice in his voice lowered the temperature of the room by several degrees.

She blinked. "What?"

"My name is Zevran."

"All…all right. Zevran." Her hand raised a few inches, intent on touching him, just for a moment. But the look upon his face was one she recognized, though she had never seen it directed at her before. Heavy with the ill feelings gnawing at her, she dropped the appendage back to her side. Her voice was gentler when she spoke this time. "I never _lied_. Not exactly."

"I suppose you're correct. You never did lie. Why make the effort to lie, when an omission of the truth takes so much less energy? A tactician to the last." He released his grip on the chair, and slide to the side, a step closer to her.

"Zevran." It was hard, not falling back into familiarity – but she would respect his request. "There is no denying what I've done – or didn't do. But...I had my reasons." She did her best to keep her back straight, face angled towards him; it was a difficult task.

"Mmm. Of course. I would expect nothing less." His approach of her had slowed, and then stopped an arms distance away; his fingers twitched by his sides. His stance: a weird limbo between offense and defense. "Reasons which obviously did not involve contacting me at all, let alone including me in our daughter's life."

Her composure broke, and she dropped her chin to stare at her hands – twisting them about themselves. "Zev – Zevran." She pressed away from the counter, closing the space between them by a step.

"Stop." Anger swelled in his voice, and she despised being on the receiving end of it. But she stopped. Halted so close to him that she could readily see the tiny lines that adorned his face. All of her reasons, all of her excuses, they didn't seem so valid anymore, not with him looking at her like that. She wanted to explain, to let him see where she was coming from; to realize that she hadn't wanted to force him to shoulder such a responsibility. Chain him down again so soon after he'd broken free of the Crows...

So she did. She let the words pour forth from her, almost without thought.

His face, which had been pinched with anger, slackened. His jaw momentarily opened, before snapping shut. The chill mask he'd worn since Adaia had left the room, returned – but not before she was able to catalog the pain. "Do you really think so little of me? To think that I would feel..._burdened _by the knowledge?"

Her head shook back and forth, he wasn't understanding. "No. Of course not. That isn't what I meant..."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "No? I know that you never looked upon me as you did your beloved, bumbling Alistair. But there were moments when I believed I had earned your trust at least. Your faith. I see now that you are a more consummate actor than I have ever given you credit for. Congratulations, Warden. I have fallen prey to your schemes enough times to shame all the Crows in Antiva." He ducked his head in a curt nod, and broke their standstill to turn from her.

Visions of him walking out the door, boarding his ship, and never gracing her doorstep again shot through her brain and she felt something inside of her break. Memories blazed in cold flames before her eyes: _A stained wall, the burned image of a greatsword that had never been swung marring its surface. A lonely man, wife and child long-since lost, befriending her against all reason. A stoic, solemn companion allowing her to cry herself to sleep; questions held for another time. A surprisingly tender and sweet embrace beneath a star-littered sky. Liquid amber gracing her life with a sword and a dagger, and a barbed wit. _

Within a single heartbeat of her life, a decision had been made. She simply had no idea that it had been made so long before that moment.

"No!" And this time she did reach out, her slender fingers grasping for his arm, their paler skin contrasting starkly with his own sun-kissed flesh. "You are _dear_ to me, Zevran. I see you, every morning; every afternoon; every _second_ of my life. You are a constant presence, I can do nothing but think of you." She choked out a laugh – it was a better option than the tears trying to edge their way through. "Sten – Sten comments on it constantly. On how like you she can be. She can barely form sentences, and still we can both see you in her clear as a sunny day."

She clenched her hand around his arm, her grip strong enough to bruise his skin. "I swear to you, that I only kept her from you because I thought it would be what _you _wanted. I never heard you speak of children. Not to me. And I – I hadn't exactly given much thought to being a mother myself. I wanted you to have a chance – a chance to live whatever kind of life that you wanted, with no one else dictating the where's or the why's or the how's. I wanted it to be _your_ life. Just once."

She was breathing heavy now, her blood racing through pulsing veins. Hoping beyond hope that he would understand.

It was a sad smile that he gave her. The edges of his (so soft – she was helpless but to recall) lips just barely rising as he looked upon her. "And how, exactly, was taking the decision entirely out of my hands giving me control over my life? You say that you wanted me to do whatever I wished, but you denied me the opportunity to make the choice on my own. I see little difference between you and any of the other Masters that have claimed my days."

She recalled being stabbed one particular time during the blight. Her armor had been breached by one hurlock, and another took advantage of her lowered defense to dig a dagger deep into her side. The shock of it had caused the whole world to pause around her, as if someone had frozen the moment, and granted her alone the ability to move. The pain had been excruciating.

This felt an awful lot like that.

"You're right." Her voice was raw, scratchy. "I hadn't thought..." She shook her head. There was nothing else to say beyond that. "I hadn't thought. I'm sorry, Zevran. I truly am."

One of his hands reached up to grasp hers where it laid against his arm, and he slowly pried her fingers from their hold. She let it fall uselessly to her side when he released it. "Forgive me, Warden, if I do not quite believe you."

"Please-"

"May I see her?" He was turned from her now, staring back at the other room. "Speak with her?"

At first she merely nodded, before she realized that he wouldn't be able to see. There was a jagged lump in her throat, but she fought past it. "Of course. Of course. Just give me a moment."

With a worried glance at her child's father (and oh, but that was an odd thought), she moved to the bedroom, and pressed the door open.

~~~\/~~~

Despite the fact that they had never raised their voices, the home was small enough that Sten had been able to hear the vast majority of their conversation. Just as well, for he knew should be reluctant to repeat the tale to him later. So he merely sat. Waiting in the only seat in the room, watching the door with a diligent gaze; Adaia pressed against his chest. She had fallen asleep within minutes.

"A moment, Kadan." Kallian nodded, one hand reaching out to grasp the threshold for support. She appeared drained from the discussion with the Assassin. Aged in just a few minutes. Her face paler than typical, and a glazed-over expression creasing her face.

He unraveled his large form from the chair, and crossed the two steps to the bed, careful to avoid the snoring mabari. With gentle hands he laid the small girl down, tucking her blanket around her shoulders. Once the task was accomplished he moved towards the Warden. He did his best to keep his features soft, she had made mistakes, yes. But she would atone.

"I do not agree with your decision to travel to Weisshaupt, but I do believe that it is time to move forward. The assassin is...justifiably angry. You understand this. But the anger will pass. He is not an unreasonable man. Nor is he foolish."

She was troubled. Unsure. It reminded him distinctly of when she'd first admitted she was with child. Prior to that, she had always been the consummate leader, never wavering in her commands. She had since proven herself to also be a more capable mother than he ever would have presumed. She was patient, yet firm. She took the barbs of the locals as easily as she accepted their advice, and she very rarely complained.

Had it not been for all the time she spent training in the smithy, she likely would have been fully accepted by the qunari women in the city.

He was oddly grateful that she was not.

"I will return tonight." She smiled, a small pained expression; and he released a dense sigh. "You are also not a fool, Kadan." He grasped her shoulder, once, and squeezed lightly (for him), before stepping past her and exited.

~~~\/~~~

Zevran was angry – nearly seething with it, in fact. Red had colored his vision just a moment before she'd left the room. He'd done his best to stomp it down. An argument would do little good to anyone at this juncture.

In truth, his emotions were more complex then mere feelings of anger. Those could be counteracted by any number of means. In reality, what he felt was a boiling concoction of rage, bitterness, pain, and fear. A decidedly more difficult posion to swallow.

Anger: that she had not trusted him enough to tell him of his own child. That she'd thought it best to leave him out of the equation, not for Adaia's sake, but _for his own good_.

Her reasons were pitiful excuses. Excuses designed to masks truths she did not yet want to admit: that she did not trust him. Did not trust that he would be honorable enough to accept responsibility for his own daughter.

Bitter: that she was actually justified in feeling that way.

After all, he was an assassin. Bred, if not born. Built and designed. Lethality and stealth and seduction. These were the skills that he had not only honed throughout his life, but that he remained exceedingly proud of – he had never met an equal that could withstand the test of time.

Fearful: that he would do more harm than good. What use would such traits be for a father?

What use would he be to an innocent such as Adaia? Was there anything of value he could he bring to her life?

Hurt: That he had allowed his defenses to fall in her presence. He had opened himself up to her silent attack, left his underbelly exposed for the gutting.

He had known when he bedded her that she was still in love with Alistair; but she had wanted him. The want was a physical one, yes, but a foolish part of him had believed that physical want would translate to something more lasting on her part. He'd been half-in-love with her at that point. It would have taken very little for him to let go, and fall all the way. And he would of done so had she given him any indication. He could safely admit to these feelings now, now that the danger seemed to have passed.

He couldn't imagine falling so easily anymore.

Zevran heard the hinges on the door creak open, and his head shot up – heart beating erratically only to slow to a near standstill when Sten exited the room. Alone. Zevran had nearly put the qunari out of his mind, so caught up had he been in thoughts of Kallian and Adaia, and all of the confusion swelling inside of him.

So twisted up was he, staring at the door in self-reflection, that it was actually the qunari that spoke first. (Something that Zevran could only recall on a handful of occasions in the past, as usually it was he that would broach all manner of conversations with the solemn warrior. But this was an upside-down sort of a day, so he supposed it made sense.)

"Your daughter is asleep. I would suggest you do not wake her just yet. An hour at most is all she will require. Then it will be nearly time for her next meal. She is...unusually social when she eats."

Zevran stared, surprised and not a bit perplexed. An ugly dose of jealous swept through his system, but he knew that it was unfair. Whatever place Sten had in their lives, it was not for him to judge. Not yet at least. He made sure to put a bit of flourish in his slight bow. "So accommodating, Sten. I thank you."

He found that he meant the words even while a part of his mind cried out in protest – yelling that Sten had neglected to send word of Adaia as well. Zevran swiftly silenced the cries. He knew the warrior well enough to know that Sten would never have taken such an action. It was not his way.

Sten snorted. "Do not thank me, assassin. I tell you more for her sake than for yours."

The first genuine bit of humor returned to Zevran. "All the same. It is...appreciated." He stared at the door to the bedroom, through the open wedge he could just make out the corner of a bedpost. "Is she...has she been happy?" He was aware that his voice was weaker than he would have liked, but this was entirely unfamiliar territory for him.

Sten raised an eyebrow. "There is no adequate answer to such a question."

"Ahh yes, how simple of me. Has she been well, then?"

"_They_," the emphasis Sten put on the word was impossible to miss, "have been well. Yes. The Warden has adjusted well to life among the qunari. Surprisingly well. Your daughter is...small. Brash at times, but that is unsurprising in one so young. Intelligent as well. Her eating habits leave something to be desired, however."

Zevran laughed, a brief chuckle, before the importance of the situation reasserted itself. There were questions, oh-so-many questions that Zevran wanted to ask: _How has Kallian adjusted? What was Adaia's first word? What is your role in their lives, my bronze-skinned companion? Brother, father, lover? Just how much has changed these years?_

Sten's grumbling voice cut through his scattered brain. "Your questions are better asked of the Warden. I have duties to attend to, but if need, we can speak later."

"And if I am not here?"

"Do not worry, elf. I will find you." The statement sounded more threatening then comforting. The look upon Sten's face confirmed this to be his intention. It actually eased Zevran's nerves more than anything else the qunari could have said of done. He laughed. "I do not doubt it, my friend."

With that Zevran was left alone in the room, an open door beckoning him forward.

It took him several minutes to make it across the threshold.

~~~\/~~~

She was bundled up in bedclothes, a doll that had seen better days tucked into her side, and a watchful mabari laying between the door and the bed (one eye crooked open and watching him warily): Zevran examined his sleeping daughter's features.

Her tiny nose was reminiscent of Kallian's, if not quite so stark. Her ears poked out at an incredibly straight and pointed angle against her head, framed by tumbling golden locks – the same color as his own. Her skin had the gentle glow of youth, and was a several shades darker than her mother's but still lighter than his own. She was an exceptional blend of both parents.

And a wonder to behold.

Zevran stood in the doorway for nearly an hour, propped against the wall. His gaze did not waver as the child slept. Kallian remained in the corner of the room, lip tugged between her teeth. Silence the order of the afternoon.

~~~\/~~~

When Adaia awoke it was with a wide yawn, a beaming smile, and a "Who you?" to Zevran.

He knelt before her, wrists resting on his knees, and hands hanging down in as nonthreatening of a manner as possible. The distinct pressure of his ever-present dagger a subtle throb against the skin of his calf. "My name...is Zevran. Zev to my friends."

She giggled, a tinkling sound wholly appropriate to one her size. "'lo, Zev!"

The world could have been ravaged by darkspawn right then, and he wouldn't have noticed.

~~~\/~~~

By mutual (and silent) decision, neither Zevran nor Kallian explained who he was exactly to their daughter. Simply referring to him as a friend of "Mama and Sten's" (the fact that Sten was not referred to by some other title by either one helped to answer some – if not all – of his questions).

During the course of the early evening, leading up to dinner, Zevran discovered that Adaia might not be able to structure complete sentences, but she was completely capable of weaving tales nonetheless. Even if he was only able to understand every fifth word.

The frequency with which she dropped qunari words into her dialogue probably shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. At some point he figured he would have to just consider the entire day to be unlike any other, and let all of the oddities of it slide right off him.

~~~\/~~~

Dinner turned out to be a surprisingly easy affair. He avoided addressing Kallian as best as he could. Still unhappy with her deceit. But, in the face of Adaia and her odd predilection for grasping onto the nearest serving spoon, and hurling its contents at any and all moving objects, that was mostly forgotten.

~~~\/~~~

The sun had set some hours ago, and Adaia had finally succumbed to sleep. He loathed to leave her even for a moment, and as Kallian pulled the door to her room shut, he said as much. "If you intend to go to Weisshaupt, know that I will be traveling with you."

Her back stiffened, a rigid line in a cotton dress. "I would ask how you know about that, but it would be an absurd question."

"Hah, please feel free! I have been away from Alistair for many months now, and I find myself missing absurdity."

She twirled, hand still on the knob of the bedroom door, her eyes widened in surprise. "You've been with Alistair since-"

"Ah-ah-ah! I will not have you distract me. Not this time. We were discussing you, and your recently arranged travel plans. I will be boarding with you when the ship leaves port."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea. The Warden's are fairly protective of their secrets, and..."

"I don't care what they are protective of; I have only just learned that I have a daughter this day. If you think that I have any intention of letting her go, you are entirely mistaken."

Kallian parted her lips, a breath of some protest on them, but then just shook her head. "Alright."

"Good." Zevran dropped to one of the kitchen chairs, and tossed his feet in a criss-cross up on the table's surface. The trip to Weisshaupt would likely be a long one, and Zevran could find little use in allowing the growing tension between them to continue to burn. Best to diffuse the situation now. With a leer, he took in her form as she stared plaintively at this feet. "Now, perhaps you'd care to answer some questions about your relationship with Sten, and in turn I promise a delightful story or two about the king." He waggled his eyebrows in an over-exaggerated gesture.

She flushed several shades of red, "Pardon?"

He smiled wide. She was flustered. It was a much better look upon her face than the mostly brooding one she had been wearing. And this, _t__his_ he could work with.


	8. Interlude the Last

**The Bannorn: Dawn before the Fall of the Archdemon**

Kallian awakened, limbs tangled together with Zevran's; her pale skin blending with his skin-kissed hues. She ached: a crick in her neck from sleeping lopsided against his arm; little fiery blemishes peppering her flesh where bugs had taken to nibbling during the night; and a warm throb between her thighs.

As the last threads of sleep washed away from her, her body was filled with a new tension – memories of nightmarish dreams suddenly too real. For a moment, she fancied that she could smell fire and brimstone; and her heart paused in her chest in fear. It was only a twist of her imagination, however, and soon the muscle began to pump fiercely again. In reality the air was moist with fog, thick with morning dew, and the twittering of a dove echoed from the tree above them.

Zevran appeared innocent in repose. His features softened, hair tangled up in a golden halo about his head. With slow eyes, she traced the curving mahogany tattoos that cover the expanse of his body in swirling patterns; down his chest, over his abdomen, and wrapped around his thigh. They led her back: up, up, up to his sleeping face once more. His eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids, a tiny smile touching the corners of his sinful mouth. Part of her longed to cup his cheek, to brush the pad of her thumb against his lower lip, but she's conscientious enough to realize that this was likely their (all of theirs) final day. The least she could do was allow him to sleep until the sun had fully risen.

Carefully, she extricated herself from him, and slipped into her clothing (a feat not easily accomplished, as at least one article of clothing had ended up hanging from a tree-branch overhead). Once done, she wasted little time making her way to the watering hole situated on the other side of camp. A quick bath, a bit of three-day-old bread, and that tonic that Wynne was ever-so-fond of producing sounded indulgent and precisely like what she needs.

Watching each footfall as carefully as she could, she made her way through the still sleeping camp with little issue (a brief nod to the two guards still on duty not-withstanding). The sight that greeted her at the water's edge was not entirely surprising, but it did change her plans a bit.

Morrigan was situated along the bank, one foot dangling down into the water, and the other drawn up to her chest. Her chin propped against her knee, and long arms wrapped around the limb. Kallian paused, spying, while the other woman drug a foot slowly back and forth in the stream, a far-away look upon her face. Kallian's stomach clenched at the sight, worry eating at her.

Morrigan had been quiet since they'd left Redcliffe. Not to say that she was ever overly-talkative; but most of their travels included at least some commentary from the witch. Whether it was a bit of (somewhat) well-meaning debate with Wynne (alright, more often than not these debates ended with a huff on one end and a growl on the other, but they rarely ended in lightning storms or earthquakes, so Kallian marked that off in the 'success' column), desperately trying to avoid fashion advice from Leliana (while simultaneously trying to pilfer useful tidbits regarding make-up and hairstyles – Morrigan's sneaking skills apparently didn't extend to such topics), or exchanging scathing banter with Alistair (this was a nearly-non-stop source of amusement/annoyance for the entire party) Morrigan's voice could often be heard.

This had not been the case during the final march, and it bothered Kallian.

While the Warden and the Witch had never truly bonded, neither had they ever really argued. For certain, they had their occasional disagreement (and Kallian could not possibly recall the number of times the words 'stop baiting Alistair' had crossed her lips) but these were were easily balanced by how often they agreed.

Which happened more regularly than either would have suspected.

Despite all of that, their budding friendship had never fully gotten off the ground. Since she was a child, Kallian had always felt more at ease around men, than woman. Her mother had died young, and her most constant playmate had been found in her cousin Soris. Her other cousin, Shianni, came to the Alienage from Highever a bit later, and, while Kallian loved her dearly, the two had decidedly different ideas as to what constituted 'fun'. Eventually the two had grown quite close; even closer than her and Soris. But it had taken years.

Morrigan and Kallian simply hadn't had that much time together. In Sten, Kallian had found a kindred spirit. In Alistair, a fast love. And, in Zevran, a true confidant. There simply hadn't been room for the witch.

It was always the Warden and her boys.

Even so, she did have some affection for the other woman. It was plain to any that bothered to look that Morrigan was exceedingly sheltered, despite her abrasive nature and immense magical talent. Kallian, for all the time she'd spent behind the walls of the Alienage, had infinitely more experience when it came to personal relationships. And witnessing Morrigan deliberately withdrawing from the group over the course of the March set the Warden's teeth on edge. Something would simply have to be done before they were drawn into the final battle. There was too much at stake, and she needed everyone at their best.

"'Tis impolite to stare, Warden." Morrigan did not so much as lift her head as he spoke.

Heat spread through Kallian's cheeks, but she soldiered on, moving forward with careful controlled steps until she was only a few paces from the other woman. She pulled her shoes from her feet, and folded her body down on the ground beside the witch in a mirroring position. "I didn't want to disturb."

"And yet, here you are."

"Quite."

The silence stretched on, a smattering of starlings scattered through the trees on the other side of the water, their song echoing across the distance.

"I assume that you did not merely come down here to sit in silence with me."

"No. I actually came down here to bathe."

"Ahh," and now she did turn chasind yellow eyes upon Kallian, some of their typical luster absent. "If you wish for privacy, you need only ask. 'Twould certainly be the quicker option then waiting and hoping I will simply depart on my own."

"The bath can wait. I wanted to talk with you, actually."

Steel and stone stole across the other woman's features, hardening her abruptly. "What of?"

Kallian sucked in a moist breathe, and allowed her gaze to return to the fog rolling in waves over the slow-moving water in front of them. "I wanted to thank you."

Shock registered on Morrigan's face, and Kallian felt oddly grateful that she was able to catch the woman off guard. "I- thank me? For what?"

"For staying with us. For not deserting like you could. For providing us more of a guarantee that the blight will end, here and now, then anyone else could have done." Kallian angled her head towards the witch, and hoped that her sincerity would show through. "For saving Alistair...and me. Thank you."

A confused laugh, dressed up in cold tones was her response. "'Tis an unexpected response considering... You had not seemed quite so accepting at the time after all."

Kallian bobbed her head in acquiescence. "I am not a fool, Morrigan. A bit over my head at times, perhaps, and certainly baffled at all we've managed to accomplish. But I am no fool."

"I – no. I don't suppose you are." Something like a smile graced Morrigan's face, it lightened her features up remarkably.

"We couldn't have accomplished half of what we have if we hadn't all stuck together. Any one of you could have chosen to run off, or to challenge my authority – and you would have been right to – especially at the beginning, when I was a leader by default then." She flashed jesting eyes at the other woman. "A babe with barely any blood on her sword."

"Truly? I seem to recall a tale that depicted your conscription as a bloody one."

A vice gripped Kallian's heart at the reminder, but it loosened nearly as quickly. Her voice, however, retained the chilled air that surrounded the memory. "That was a lifetime ago now it seems. I... recall it. In extensive detail. But it almost seems as like it happened to someone else."

A bird that had landed upon a rock several feet away, a wriggling worm in its mouth, caught Kallian's attention. "The choices I made back then, they were not my own. None of them. Not the choice to be married, nor the choice to murder the raping bastard that stood between my cousin and I."

The worm dropped to the stone, only to be snatched up by the predatory bird a moment later, and scarfed down in two choking gulps. "That was life. That was survival. There was nothing grand or special or avoidable about any of it."

The bird turned; beady little black eyes in a red and gray stripped face, and cocked its head towards the pair of humans in front of it. A long second drew by, before it opened its beak and released a delightful little song into the air. "But the choices I have made since then...for better or for worse...they have been my own."

The bird spread its wings, and lifted itself into flight, is song trailing behind it. Kallian titled her head back to Morrigan, to find she had the other woman's rapt attention. "That is the blood that stains my blade. There is a...discernible difference."

She sighed, and turned from Morrigan's unwavering gaze. Soon, her legs began to cramp, and she stretched them out before her, a relieved grunt escaping her at the change in position. "What will you do, once this is all over?"

The air bristled with the return of tension in the witch. "I will leave. As previously discussed."

A laugh, light and with a small amount of humor rent the air. "Of that, I am certain. But – and forgive me, I am not trying to pry. I am merely...curious. Do you intend to settle somewhere?" Kallian raised a hand to prevent the outburst brewing on Morrigan's lips from erupting, "Or to continue to travel? It will be high in summer when you give birth. I can't imagine that it would be comfortable to be heavy with child, and traveling, in that heat."

Morrigan gave a wary look, obviously not trusting the line of questioning. "I imagine any traveling I am doing will need to end long enough to have the child. Yes."

Kallian nodded, and turned back to the water. "I intend to keep my promise you know. I will not go looking for you...and, while I can not speak for Alistair, I imagine he will let you be as well."

"'Twould be a fruitless search, you would not find me unless I wished to be found."

"And would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Wish to be found? I know that we have not always been the closest of friends. But we are – friends, I mean." Pale eyes settled upon yellow. "I can't imagine that raising a child alone would be easy."

The stiffening of Morrigan's shoulders was the only sign that the line of conversation was getting to her. "If you are trying to ply me for more information, in the hopes that I will spill some dark secret regarding the child, it 'twill not work."

"I am not."

This time, it was a sarcastically arched eyebrow (Kallian idly wondered how eyebrows could express emotion). "Then you are hoping that I will falter under your caring and kind words, and allow you the chance to know your love's bastard babe."

A muscle in Kallian's jaw twitched, and her fists clenched in the dirt by her sides. "No. I do not." She relaxed her breathing, calming her body's reactions. "This has nothing – okay, this has _little_ – to do with Alistair. I am asking about _you_, Morrigan. And yes, the child is at the forefront of my thoughts. I believe that we both agreed earlier that I am not a fool?" She did not wait for a rebuttal, but pressed on. "If you think for a single moment that I believe that you laid with Alistair in a ritual intended to breed an old god in human form simply so that you could have a go at being a mother, you are truly mistaken."

"Wha-"

A sharp nod from Kallian cut the witch off. "I know that there is more to it than that. There _has _to be. But, I do not care. Not really. I _trust_ you, Morrigan. And perhaps that is folly on my part, but there it is, all the same. And I do not believe that anything you intend to do with this child could be worse than what we are dealing with now. Generation after generation of Wardens have succeeded in slaying one Archdemon after another, after all. And still, more rise. If there is any way to put an end to that..."

She paused to both allow her words to settle into Morrigan's mind, as well as to organize the rest of her thoughts, which were tumbling fast and tangled through her head; the morning's nightmare fresh in her memory. "The Archdemon's they – they _ache_, Morrigan. Their songs are bitter, twisted things. There is no beauty to be found there. And yes, I have a hard time imagining you being a party to anything of the sort."

Morrigan blinked, and shifted her eyes away. "You...trust me?"

"I do."

Morrigan nodded, and stood, slender hands reaching back to brush dirt and debris from her robes. "The merry little band of misfits you have acquired would deem you a fool for doing so." Her stance shifted towards the camp, but she did not move. "And there would be little evidence I could use to refute them."

"And what of you? Have you changed your mind as well? Would you so readily call me a fool?"

For a short time, Kallian though that she was wrong. That Morrigan was going to laugh in her face and call her out on her idiocy. It was in the hard edge to Morrigan's body, in the unreadable quality of her beautiful face. But there was also a light in her golden eyes that eased some of those worries. Surely Kallian could not be so off-based.

"No, Warden. I would not." She ducked her chin briefly, a nod between equals or friends – it didn't matter, before she pivoted on her heel in that overly graceful manner of hers, and headed deeper into the woods. Quite clearly declaring the conversation to be over.

Kallian stared long and hard out over the water, before she too stood and swiped the dirt from her clothes. There would be no time for bathing today.


	9. A Child Unexpected Chapter 7

**Seheron – Twenty-two Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

The preparations for traveling to Weisshaupt took up a considerable portion of the following three days. It wasn't that she had much to pack (she had every intention of returning after all, so there was no need to abandon her home altogether), but between Zevran getting to know Adaia (ten fingers, ten toes, two pointed ears, and a bottomless pit of a stomach), Adaia getting to know Zevran (neither the hair nor the tattoos are removable), and Sten being generally disapproving of the entire situation, Kallian's remaining days in Seheron were fairly well-divided.

Despite the fact that Kallian felt as if she was walking a fine-line between agitation and relief at the disruption to her life, one thing that was living firmly in the land of good was Zevran's willingness to be involved in any manner that he could. Surprisingly, after just one fumbled attempt (which involved a waste-bin, the goose-girl painting, and an open flame), this had included Zevran willingly changing Adaia's nappies. It was a chore that Kallian was more than happy to relinquish.

Once the majority of the packing had been done (Kallian had very little she needed to bring, she had learned how easy it was to travel lightly during the blight, but Adaia required more than a few things to make it through just a day, let alone nearly three weeks of travel), Kallian set up payment for her home for the duration of her absence, and attempted to cull Sten's irritation at her abrupt departure.

She had become so indebted to Sten since the end of the blight, that she was certain that there was no way for her ever to repay him. The Qun spoke often of a person's role in life and the world. To her, Sten had been nothing short of a miracle. Holding her together when every instinct told her to fall apart. Reminding her constantly that she was more than capable of handling what the world threw at her; whether that be darkspawn or former lovers.

He gave her strength. As any good warrior should. She wondered what it was she could possibly give him that made him stick around for all of her dramatics. (She highly doubted it was her ability to cook pastries.)

"I fail to see the point of this, Kadan."

"Sten. Just...promise me. I need to know that if anything happens to me, anything at all, you'll come for her."

Sten growled, a deep reverberating noise which caused her mabari's hackles to rise, and his ears to perk up. "If you believe you will come to harm, why do you insist on going?"

Kallian ran her hand through her hair, tugging at the tresses, her eyes focused on a far off-point. A point occupied by the tiny figures of Zevran and Adaia as they played by the water behind Kallian's home. "Hell if I know."

"Kadan-" Oh, now _that _was quite an impressive growl. Even her hound agreed, if his whimper was anything to go by.

"It was a joke! I was joking, Sten."

Some of the tension eased from the qunari's shoulders, but he still appeared wary. "Your sense of humor needs improvement."

"Look, we've been over this. I need to settle things with the Warden's properly, if I'm ever going to have a real life. I owe her that much."

"If you had not agreed to depart so quickly, I would have gone with you."

"I know." Kallian lifted her chin so that she could look at him properly, and reached out to squeeze his hand briefly. "I know. But, its better this way. You have responsibilities here, I couldn't ask you to leave them on such short notice. And besides..." She glanced back to the duo by the water. Zevran was now sitting cross-legged in front of their daughter, who was drawing her hands through the sand and jabbering on a mile a minute. "This will give him a chance to bond with her."

Sten sighed. "He does appear to be taken with her."

Watching the two of them, responding to one another as if he hadn't just blown into their lives a mere two days before, the truth was obvious. Her mouth pulled down in a slight frown, her heart heavy. "I was wrong. Wasn't I?"

Violet met blue as Sten linked gazes with her. His own face radiating an emotion that she could only label as pity, even though she knew that it was something much more complicated. "Yes."

Blunt teeth dug into her lower lip as she brought her arms up to cross over her chest, warding off a wash of cold that had nothing to do with the weather.

"It does little good to dwell on the past, Kadan. You know this. We make our choices, and we must live with them. This was your choice." He lifted his chin up once more, sight focusing on the pair by the water's edge. "Learn from it, and there will be nothing to regret in the future." Tentatively a hand rested on her shoulder, but only for a few seconds. Even so, the warmth and pressure of its presence relaxed her down to her bones.

"What would I do without you, Sten?"

His eyebrows raised in unison. "You're about to find out. " There was a look close to amusement on his face. "It is likely you will survive."

Laughter escaped her throat, and she wrapped an arm around him in an awkward half-hug that he only haltingly returned.

She could laugh now, but she hated that he was right.

~~~\/~~~

She waited to visit the armory until the last day. In the nearly two years that she had been living in Seheron, the smith was the only friend that she had acquired. He'd provided her with an interesting perspective with which to look upon the world, and she was grateful for the training he had so openly provided. (She may not have been in top fighting condition, but neither had she lost all of her strength, thanks in great part to her training at his hands.)

Perhaps she'd been putting off visiting with him just a tad, but the thought of saying goodbye made her head hurt. She had never been any good at those sorts of things. The fact of the matter was that the smith had been exceedingly good to her, and she both wanted to thank him, and offer up some explanation as to where she would be for the foreseeable future.

Any thoughts that she had entertained about omitting key pieces of information from her tale were firmly squashed by Zevran's insistence in tagging along. He was apparently taking this whole "not letting Adaia out of his sight" thing rather seriously.

She might have found it endearing if it wasn't also paired with Zevran's still slightly standoffish attitude towards her. It was subtle, and had she not known him so well, she likely wouldn't have been able to pick up on it. (Sten also seemed aware of the stiffness with which Zevran was carrying himself, if the narrowed-eyed looks her friend was constantly giving Zevran were any indication.)

As it was, she was fairly certain that every qunari, elf, and human they passed by in the markets assumed Zevran had climbed straight into her bed from the boat, so audacious was his flirting. The difference being that he saved all of his most deliberate and raunchy innuendos and leers for when there were witnesses. In private, the facade dropped, and all of his focus was on Adaia; with nary a word spoken to Kallian on any other topic.

They had talked somewhat extensively that first night that he had arrived, and she had thought things had been well on their way to improving. She had spoken for an absurd amount of hours about Adaia. Detailing as best she could every moment of the young girl's life. He, in turn, had told her of Alistair's attempts to thwart the Warden's from finding her, and other mostly meaningless trivialities. But, he had clammed up when the discussion had lead towards more serious topics.

Or more specifically, topics directly dealing with only the two of them; and she had no idea how to clear the gap between them.

It made her stomach flutter in an uncomfortable way.

Physically shaking herself from her reverie, she noted the deep-set yellow eyes staring out from behind lined bronzed skin, with a look of introspection at the golden haired elf by her side. The smith stood – back to his work-table – arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow lifted as he took in the spectacle that was Zevran and Adaia. (Adaia had somehow managed to pry one of Zevran's braids loose, and was tugging on it in a most amusing fashion. With her teeth.)

The smith's coarse timbre broke through to the pair. "You are the father."

Despite the lack of question in that statement, Zevran paused, one arm tucking Adaia close to his chest, the other unsuccessfully attempting to pry the deathgrip she held on his hair loose. "I am. Although, at the moment it would seem I am acting more as a chewtoy." Through the flop of hair covering his face he titled his head towards Kallian. "Warden, I do believe that your hound has been a bad influence on our daughter."

The smith huffed. A second's consideration passed before he crossed the room and snatched something up from a cabinet near the wash basin. When he returned, prize in hand, a smile split Adaia's face. As she was presented with the squishy purple and blue toy, she launched herself out of Zevran's arms and into the smith's, chubby little hands grabbing for the soft material. The one corner of the smith's mouth twitched upwards, as near to a smile as he ever got. "If you plan on hanging about in here, there's a bucket in the back. And a stack of tools next to it that need tending. I trust you are bright enough to figure out the rest."

Zevran opened his mouth, a glimmer in his eye. Several possible scenarios ran through Kallian's mind of what he might say, each one more horrific than the last. Her hand darted out of its own accord, and snagged his elbow. "Come. I'll show you where everything is kept. She'll just be in the next room."

His eyes flashed down to where her fingers lingered; they slowly traced the appendage back up to her face, an emotion in their amber depths which she couldn't quite identify. Heat pooled low in her belly, and she allowed herself a tiny amount of pleasure in the feeling of her thumb stroking idly along his skin before she pulled away. Unconsciously, she dropped her voice to a softer, more melodic tone. "You can see what I have been up to this last year. There's one set of blades I'm rather proud of."

Zevran glanced back towards the smith and Adaia, before inclining his head, and bending down with a slight flourish. "Lead the way, Warden."

Oh, how she missed the way 'my Grey Warden' use to roll off his tongue. It had always bothered Alistair immensely, but she had rather liked it. She wondered if he would ever refer to her as such again.

~~~\/~~~

With much growling (her mabari), the judicious application of inappropriate gestures and suggestions (Zevran towards a young Warden who blushed a lovely shade of crimson), wide-eyed fascination (Adaia), and near-champion levels of lip chewing (Kallian); the boat had set off at quarter past noon on the third day; nearly as scheduled.

Sten was glowering from the dock.

~~~\/~~~

**Nocen Sea: Twenty-two and a half Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

Kallian _really_ disliked boats. She wouldn't go so far as to say that she hated them, (that kind of passion was reserved for things like Revenants and hangnails) but they ranked fairly close to the top.

She'd held out some minor hope that her last extended voyage by sea had been so Maker-forsaken-awful due to her pregnancy; when simply everything about her body was thrown out of alignment. But no. No, that kind of luck (if it even existed) was saved for some other, more deserving soul.

One who didn't cheat death or commit lies of omission large enough to embrace the whole of Ferelden.

You know, someone distinctly **not her. **

Instead, she got to suffer every single wave and rock and jolt and thrust of the damnable boat in quiet, green-colored agony. The worst part was that no one else seemed to be suffering from a similar fate. (Perhaps it was petty of her to wish such a heinous thing on anyone else, but really, would it have killed someone to be just a _little _less perky?) She _was _glad to see that neither Adaia nor Zevran appeared to be experiencing any difficulties. And given how much shorter this trip was scheduled to be, as compared to the last (a mere three weeks this time), she was managing to bare it with some small amount of dignity.

As long as either a bucket or a railing was readily at hand at any given moment, of course. Andraste be damned, but she disliked boats.

While she was busy clinging to the nearest solid object (missing Sten most acutely), Zevran and Adaia were busy systematically wrapping everyone on the boat around their little fingers. And with every passing moment, one thing was becoming more and more apparent.

Her daughter simply _adored_ her father. And frankly, Kallian would be hard pressed to argue as to why.

At breakfast, when Kallian was struggling to hold down stale toast, Zevran would swoop in, and scoop the giggling child up into his arms. He'd toss her overhead, her tiny feet kicking out, and a whoop of joy letting loose from her chest, just before she'd toss chubby little arms around his neck, and give him sloppy, mashed-pea flavored kisses.

"Mmm. Did your mother tell you that I was fond of peas?" The sound of Adaia's laughter could be heard echoing over the din of the mess hall.

In the afternoon, they would tottle off, Zevran fading in and out of the shadows, much to Adaia's delight, and constant cries of "Again, Zev! Again!" To which he would always oblige. Sometimes, Kallian would catch a glimpse of her daughter, eyes screwed tightly shut, and hands squeezing into fists, before they'd all pop open and she'd glance at her hands in obvious disappointment.

Just what Kallian needed, a 15 month old learning how to become invisible. Zevran assured her that it would be years before the babe could master such an art. She assured him that the child had managed to stand upright at only six months old, and had learned how to work the lock on the front door by the time she was a year (with the help of one mabari, who was always willing to give a leg up to the little girl). So mastering something as complicated as disappearing couldn't possibly take her more than a couple of months. Tops.

Then, of course, there were the other Wardens.

Kallian had never really had occasion to spend much time with any other Wardens. Well, aside from Duncan, Alistair, and Riordan of course. There had been plenty in the camp at Ostagar, but socialization had not been encouraged before she went through the joining (and given the death rate of the damn ritual, she could understand why), and afterwards...well, they'd all mostly been busy dying.

Now, there were three other Wardens on the boat with her, and the lot of them seemed to treat her with some kind of mixture of uncertainty and respect. Like they weren't sure what to make of her.

To be fair, she had no clue what to make of herself anymore.

"You do not care for the water, I see." The elongated vowels of the Orlesian who had graced Kallian's door that first day were unmistakable. As was the smile that was just a tad _off_ on the dark-haired man's face.

"That obvious?"

"Only to those with eyes, perhaps."

Kallian supposed that her position, pressed back against one of the ship's bulkheads, arms wrapped tightly around legs, which were tucked tightly against her chest, was as good an indication as her semi-regular trips to the head (or a convenient located railing) that she was, in fact, not overly fond of boats.

Stealth and subterfuge had never been her strong suit.

"I prefer the ground beneath my feet to actually be, well, _ground. _There is just something...unnatural about traveling this way."

A wry laugh was his immediate response. "Says the Warden that felled an Archdemon and lived. I daresay that you have engaged in your fair-share of unnatural activities, Tabris."

"Mmm. Perhaps I have filled my quota, then. For the sea does not agree with me."

"Neither did being a Warden, it would seem." There was a bitter edge to his words that caught her off guard; even if such a statement was expected, given her actions.

The urge to defend her choices was immediate, and she was nearly powerless to stop herself. "Actually, being a Warden wasn't half bad. I rather enjoyed nearly dying on a regular basis, watching comrades and civilians beaten, burned, and mutilated. Barely rescuing my family from slavery. Having absolutely no direction or instruction whatsoever. Being bathed in secrets and rituals that served seemingly no purpose aside from keeping those of us left behind fully in the dark, and almost allowing the blight to sweep Thedas. It was an immense amount of fun. You should really give it a go sometime. I personally can not wait to drag my child into it all. What better way to show my love then to throw her on a dragon's pyre?"

Silence lingered over the pair for several long minutes, until the air was nearly crackling between them. She was torn between rage and desperation. She wanted to be angry for his flippant disregard of what she had endured. But equally, she felt guilt for having said it at all. She owed the Wardens a great debt. She would surely have been hung if not for Duncan's intervention. To Kallian's relief, it was the other Warden that gave in, confrontation avoided, and took his leave before her own will cracked.

The need for air over rode her fear of the water, and she found herself tumbling to the nearest railing, eyes clenched tightly, and stomach churning.

It was a good thing that Adaia was with Zevran.

~~~\/~~~

"I hear that you gave a subtle tongue-thrashing to the Orlesian." Zevran's dulcet tones wrapped around Kallian as he approached from behind, before joining her at the railing she was currently calling home.

"Word travels fast."

"Well, these Wardens know very little of subtlety. Much closer to your tried-and-true hack and slash view of life. Makes prying information from their disappointingly easy."

Kallian allowed the tips of her mouth to curl up in mirth. "Well, that and they are all horrid gossips."

"This as well. The younger one in particular. Treval. I'm fairly certain I know every last sordid – and not so sordid – detail of their little troupe's travels. Did you know that your Orlesian cannot stomach Tevinter brandy? Knocks him out cold for hours on end."

She snickered at the serious tone with which he delivered that information. "Ahh, no. I did not. That is something to keep in mind for the future, I think."

"Indeed."

"Treval…" Kallian paused, considering her next words. "He's the one that turns several shades of pink and maroon when you waltz into the room, isn't he? He appears quite smitten."

Zevran's laughter was a joy to hear. She had missed its sound. "Hmm. Yes. He has proven to be...easily enamored." There was a pout on his lips that warmed her somewhat.

"You sound disappointed."

He turned from the water, and pressed his back to the railing. Her breath caught in her throat as his hair (braids all askew from Adaia's near constant tampering) danced in the wind, catching the dying rays of the sun in a golden halo. Eventually he turned back towards her. She expected him to rake his gaze over her, or to giver her one of his trademark grins. But instead, he met her eyes with an intensity that she had not seen for quite some time. "There is a great deal to be said for prey that is not so easy to catch, Warden."

She felt herself swaying towards him somewhat, teetering on a razor's edge, and wanting little else than to be held by him once more. How did he have such an effect on her? She caught herself before she actually made a move towards him, though, and cleared her throat. "Where's Adaia?"

"I laid her down a few moments ago. Little thing wore herself out this afternoon attempting to climb the mast."

"Wha-?"

Zevran held a hand up, long fingers mesmerizing Kallian momentarily with their closeness. "Don't worry. It was all supervised of course. She barely made it higher than my head. Your hound is watching over her now. She will be fine."

Kallian wanted to question him further on the sorts of activities he thought it was fine for such a young child to engage in, but also desperately wanted to avoid the argument that would likely follow. Instead, she acknowledged the wisdom in having her mabari watch their daughter (a better guard they would not likely find), and decided to switch topics.

"A few nights ago you were telling me tales of your own sordid adventures in Denerim, since I took my leave."

Zevran took the abrupt change in conversational topics with his typical ease. "And you, Warden, were doing a marvelous job of telling me very few tales of your own."

She snorted, "There's really not much to tell, Zevran. I got on a boat. Had Adaia. Worked for the smith. And was generally a nuisance to the Qun philosophers. But you, you stayed in Denerim this whole time?"

"Mostly. My travel to Seheron did include a rather lengthy stopover in Antiva." He paused for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought. "But that is a story for another time."

"But-" her protest was promptly cut off by Zevran, who once again intensely studying her.

"It surprises you that I stayed so long?"

She blinked. "Yes. It does actually."

Kallian watched as his shoulders tensed momentarily, "Why?"

Her lip was tugged inward to be chewed upon by her teeth with no conscious effort on her part. "I seem to recall you expressing a great deal of homesickness while we criss-crossed Ferelden."

He waved a hand, flippantly. "Perhaps. But your homeland does have its charms – there were several living in the immediate vicinity of the castle in fact. They did their best to make sure I did not long for the shores of Antiva too often."

"I'll bet." If a small amount of bitterness crept into her tone, neither of them acknowledged it.

"And..." He took a moment to glance over his shoulder, watching the sun set over the waves with her. The situation could have been romantic, if circumstances had been different. "I found myself with unexpected attachments to the area, which made it harder than usual to simply leave."

Her brows drew together in contemplation and a frown graced her face. "Oh. What-ah-what sort of attachments?"

He smiled at her, with no hint of pretense. "Well, there is an elven family, perhaps you know them? One with hair the color of flames? A feisty thing, recently given the title of Bann? And her uncle. As kind a man as I have ever known – he misses his daughter terribly, but is also proud of how like her mother she is. There was also this blond. A rather excitable, soul. Desperately in need of guidance."

Kallian stared at him, baffled. The first was obviously her cousin, and the second her father. _He's spent time with my family? _But, before she could fully dwell on that thought, she found herself trying to figure out who the last could be, when a brash recounting of his from the other night came back to her. "You mean Alistair?"

"Hah! And here I thought I might have provoked some sort of other reaction with my choice of words. Alas, my skills at riddles are not quite what they use to be. But yes. I do mean Alistair. He is not so disagreeable, once he is no longer feeling territorial. I might even go so far as to say that he could even be friendly. Though, that may just have been a byproduct of the amount of time spent near one another." He gave a half-hearted shrug, still leaning casually on the railing.

"Oh." To think that the removal of her presence from their lives allowed the two to grow close was…interesting, to say the least. When Zevran arrived, and had told her how he had lingered in Denerim, with sporadic mentions of the King tossed about, he had more or less implied that while the two were in contact, that it was nothing remotely close to friendship.

If it had not been obvious before that there was a fair deal that he had yet to disclose to her, it was now. She supposed she had not earned that sort of knowledge yet. Thankfully, she'd have at least another week on the damnable boat, and then another two by land to pry the information out of him.

As her mind was working through possible tactics to imploy in order to get him talking, one sentence in particular popped to the forefront and demanded her immediate attention. "Wait a minute. Just what sort of _guidance_ were you giving him?"

The exceedingly self-satisfied grin that split his face was highly worrying.

~TBC


	10. A Child Unexpected Chapter 8

**Weisshaupt: Twenty-three Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

With only a quarter day's worth of travel to go, Kallian had become aware of an odor. An odor that she had once upon a time associated with home, but had nearly forgotten overly the past months in Seheron. An odor that made her nose twitch like an Orlesians'.

Dogs.

Wet dogs.

Lots of them.

Her mabari was nearly skipping along the path, yipping at everyone's feet, and making a general racket. Adaia was enjoying the hound's antics immensely, and was taking any opportunity that she could to wiggle out of her sling and waddle along the path as well. She was entirely covered in mud at this point.

A fairly typical day's travel, all in all. Except for the smell, of course.

"Tell me, Wardens: just how many hounds do you have wading around in muck at this fortress of yours?" The question would have been innocent if it hadn't been for the nasally tone with which it was said. A byproduct of Zevran having pinched his nose closed before speaking.

Unsurprisingly, the youngest Warden answered. (Treval, he was called. Identifiable by the brass-colored hair on his head, the sea-burnt skin peppering his cheeks and nose, and the Maker-forsaken habit of practically fluttering his eyelashes and going into a swoon whenever Zevran waltzed on by. Kallian disliked him intently.)

"We have a war hound contingent of approximately 175 dogs, give or take a litter or two." The way that Treval sidled up next to Zevran was too familiar for Kallian's liking.

"Hmm, do they often have such an...intense odor?" Zevran had dropped the hand from his nose at Treval's approach. Kallian's position several paces behind them along the road afforded her the perfect view of that same hand skirting across the exposed skin of Treval's forearm.

"Hah! No. That is a result of the recent rains. The courtyard becomes quite muddy during the wet season." And here, the damnable man smiled, a wide beaming grin. He had too many teeth, as far as Kallian was concerned. "I had no idea you had an interest in hounds, Zev? Aside from our traveling companion here, of course." And oooh, Kallian _really _hated when he scratched _her _dog behind the ears. Almost as much as she detested the name 'Zev' falling from his lips as if he had every right to do so.

Which, of course, he did.

Not that Kallian cared or anything. Of course not. She just disliked the little inflection the man placed on the word. Like he was tasting something sweet. That was all. Really.

Attempting to distance herself from Zevran and his hanger-on (who were talking far too closely at the moment), Kallian slowed her steps to join up with Declan in the back. He wasn't her first choice to speak with, but the messenger elf which had accompanied them back from Seheron had been dispatched at Dawn for Weisshaupt. Presumably to bring word of their arrival. Although Kallian thought it likely that he was also being sent to divulge as much information about her as possible. He was nearly as awful a gossip as Treval. And besides, he was practically Declan's puppet. Still, she preferred his company to the Orlesian's. "So I take it that the fortress isn't far ahead?" Her attempt at sounding thrilled may have failed. Just a bit.

The dark-haired Orlesian cocked his head at her, wide-eyed; he made no attempt to hide his curiosity. To be fair, Kallian had side-stepped the man at every turn over the past few weeks. Their last real conversation – for lack of a better word – had set her on edge.

To say that she had little interest in dealing with his judgmental attitude would be an understatement. When he had first introduced himself, he had talked about the awe with which many of the Wardens saw Kallian. What he had failed to clarify was his lack of such an emotion; a previously unknown fact that had made itself abundantly clear during the course of their travels. It should have caused her to feel relieved, but really, it just made her apprehensive.

More than once, she had noticed him watching her – _appraising _her – from across the deck, and later across the various camp sites they had set up along the trip. Out of everyone in the group, he was also the only one that did not seem completely enamored by Adaia. Treval and the other Warden's doted on her nearly as much as Zevran, but Declan remained detached. Uninterested. And it left her with a distinctly...unsettled feeling.

"You've assumed correctly. We are only a few hours march from Weisshaupt, currently. I suspect we will be there before supper." He lifted his eyes to the sky, drawing her attention to the massing storm clouds overhead. "Assuming there are no further delays, of course."

"Of course." Kallian nodded, and dropped the discussion. Focusing instead on the antics of her daughter, who was currently riding on the shoulders of one of the other Wardens (this one was known as Theo – and he had shoulders that could rival a full-grown tree for width, and a greatsword strapped to his back that would make her qunari smith envious), her tiny hands holding his sizable ears in a death-grip. Not that he seemed to mind, given the overly loud laughter coming from that general direction.

Soon though, her attention was drawn back to pair up front. One of Zevran's hands rested momentarily on Treval's back as he leaned in close to whisper something blush-worthy to the man. Kallian clenched and unclenched her hands. Open, shut, open, shut. The motion calmed her, if only minutely. Then Zevran's head turned, just so, and he locked his gaze with her. One side of his mouth turned up in a smile.

A smile that really had no business causing her heart to skitter in her chest like that.

The two had managed to come to an easy accord over the last few weeks. Zevran had been more open during conversations, less prone to tensing up, or falling into defensive humor. There was still plenty of both, but it wasn't as oppressive as it had once been. She felt like she was slowly, but surely getting her friend back.

Which, of course, was probably why she wanted _more_ now.

It was unlikely, she knew. He hadn't made any serious plays for her bed – that was a blinding clue in and of itself that things were not as they had once been. She had believed, if only for a short time, that his interest in that regard had not truly waned, but then it had become obvious that he was spending his nights in Treval's bed. Despite his claims that easy prey was not always the most worthwhile, he seemed to be enjoying his catch none-the-less.

Still, they had made progress these past few weeks. They even had shared watch duties a time or two (athough that had been limited, for Adaia's sake, as she was much too young to sleep without either Kallian, Zevran, or the faithful hound in the tent with her – and the latter always left Kallian's bedroll covered in excessive amounts of drool). She could clearly recall one of the last nights that they had done such.

"_Truly, all of that time amongst them, and you never once took one to bed? To have wasted such an opportunity..." Zevran clucked his tongue. "It is a travesty." He seemed honestly affronted by the idea. She imagined he must have assumed she'd been participating in orgies from the moment she arrived, until they day they left. _

_Her face heated at the mental image, and she tossed the brown-apple core she had still been nibbling on at him, laughing quietly when he caught it with a deft hand and sent it off into the fire. "You have a rather one track mind, you know that, right?"_

"_I disagree. My mind is often traveling along many tracks. It is not my fault that so many of the worthwhile ones detour through areas rampant with leather and sex. Makes a dull life considerably more entertaining."_

"_Quite." _

_His eyes, slick with heat and humor trailed from her lips to her throat, and back up to make contact once more. She loved having them on her; it made her feel reconnected with her past in a way she had not known she missed. "You still have not answered the question, Warden."_

_She sighed, wondering what Sten would have to say on the current topic of conversation. It would likely be both succinct and completely accurate. She missed him greatly. "No, Zevran. I opted to not invite random qunari -" here, she held up a hand, "- or not so random qunari to my bed. Aside from the – ahem – _ample _difference in size, I had a lot to keep me occupied while I was there. Not to mention, my presence was mostly looked down upon by the natives. They didn't care so much to have me hanging about, at least not while my conversion was still unfinished."_

_Zevran shifted along the log, angling his body closer to hers. "Do you regret not having done so?"_

"_Which part? Do I regret not having braved possible internal injury for meaningless sex, or do I regret not completing my study of the Qun?"_

"_Can't I mean both?" He gave her that patented, deadly Zevran smile, and she laughed at him once more. _

"_No to the first, and a bit to the last. The Qun has many merits. But there is also much I disagree with. But I guess that the same could be said about any philosophy."_

"_Mmm. Perhaps you are not meant for such a place. Most of the qunari that I have known – which is admittedly not that large of a sample group – seem to embrace the Qun either completely, or not at all. It does not seem to have much to offer in between."_

_He seemed genuinely thoughtful. Contemplative. It was a look that he did not often wear, but that suited him completely. "There is gray in everything, Zevran."_

_His smile was small, but kind. "Well said – Grey Warden."_

It had been nice, having their once awkward silences drift into companionable ones that were occasionally dotted with anecdotal conversations. She felt like they were truly becoming friends. Something she feared she had taken for granted during the blight.

So engrossed was she in her thoughts that she barely heard the snort from Declan to her right.

"You are, perhaps, too obvious in your interest, Tabris."

"Pardon?"

"Your eyes wander to him too often for anyone to miss, least of all him. He puts on quite a show for you. Preening like a bird. Even his dalliance with Treval is a contrived thing, designed to garner your attention."

To her own irritation, she bristled visibly. "I think you're mistaken. He is a friend, nothing more."

"The little girl riding on Theodore's shoulders is evidence that was not always the case." He shrugged, seeming to be only mildly interested in the topic at hand. She knew this for a lie, however. The lilt to his softly accented voice was a tell she had picked up on sometime ago (mostly thanks to a deck of cards Zevran had managed to procure on board, it was a most entertaining way to pass the time, even if all she did was watch).

"A single discretion." She could only hope that her tells were not so easily revealed as his, despite the uselessness of the denial.

"Hmm. And is that why your face turns that lovely shade of red whenever Treval gets too close?" As if on cue, her face began to heat up. His voice dropped in volume. "May that also explain why you dig your nails into your palms until they leave little bloodied crescents, as they are now?"

"How do you-"

"I pay attention, Tabris. Some consider it to be an admirable trait."

It was her turn to snort. "I'd say that you pry into matters where you are neither needed nor wanted. A distinctly less admirable trait by anyone's standards."

He waved his hand in front of him. "It is a matter of perspective, to be sure. But it is one that I have found to be mostly in my favor over the years."

"Then you have been most fortunate in the circles you ran in." She picked up her pace some, trying to find a balance between walking beside him, and avoiding Zevran. (And subsequently, Treval; as always.)

Declan's eyes light up at her. "You do not care for me, do you Tabris?"

She flicked her gaze back towards him. "My. You _do_ pay attention, don't you?"

When he laughed, it was obscenely loud. Enough so to draw everyone's attention If the twinkle in Declan's eye and the smirk on Zevran's face were anything to go on, they both knew more about what was going on than she did.

It was going to be a long few hours.

~~~\/~~~

The compound – no, the _fortress –_ was one of the most intense structures that Kallian had ever laid eyes on. Immense archways of carved stone sprang up from the ground, wrapping around the sides of the vast cliff face which it nestled against. Beyond and above it – stretching out into the distance – could be seen the far reaches of the Hunterhorn Mountains: black-brown stone against a coal colored sky.

It might have been intimidating, once upon a time. Before she'd delved the Deep Roads, and braved the wrath of a land of irritated qunari. Now it just filled her with dread. Just what would the Warden Commander have to say to her?

They couldn't possibly know about the deal that she had struck with Morrigan. Could they? She felt a pang in her chest at the thought.

As the group crossed over the threshold into the Weisshaupt courtyard (wisely sidestepping several large puddles of mud; except for Adaia, of course – she fit right in), Kallian's lower lip was subjected to some of the worst chewing it had ever had to endure.

Along the western wall of the outer portion of the compound, there was an area dedicated for training. A low lying fence cornered off the area, with sections for archery laid out between sword-battered mannequins. Several Wardens were currently engaged in some kind of row, judging by the grappling going on in the center, and the good-humored laughter egging them on from the sidelines.

To the east, there was a water well, adjacent to what she assumed was a smithy (judging by the black billowing smoke emanating from its metal chimney, and the entrance to a somewhat dilapidated stable. A mottled colored horse was currently latched in front, chewing a bit of straw between its oversized teeth. (A little shudder went up her spine. She never had cared for horses. There was something distinctly off about those teeth.)

The source of the odor that has assailed them along the road became obvious a few moments later when her mabari made a bee-line for the mabari pen located behind the stables. Its baying bark was quickly joined with the sounds of several dozen others, as well as one very irritated hound keeper shouting ineffectually for order.

Adaia started howling happily as well. She tumbled her muddied self, baying and barking as best she could, right into Zevran's calves. He quickly lifted her up, grimacing for only a moment when he was covered in muddy hands and kisses. The situation may have been humorous if she wasn't dealing with a swiftly mounting headache.

She was just preparing to head off after her wayward dog when Treval decided to make himself useful. "I'll fetch him, Tabris. I'd like to check in with the pack at any rate." He smiled that same, annoying, blinding smile again – his eyes focused on Zevran, even whie his words were directed at her. "See if any new litters have been whelped as of late." He ruffled Adaia's hair, letting his hand drag past Zevran's shoulders a moment, before winding his way towards the stables.

During the distraction, Declan took the opportunity to run forward to the guards stationed at the portcullis, but he needn't have bothered. It appeared that they were fully aware of just who was in the little travel party.

"Warden Kallian Tabris? The Warden Commander requests your presence immediately."

Kallian sighed heavily. Why did no one ever give her a chance to _eat_ before being drug off to a meeting? The whole thing simply _had _to be a conspiracy.

~~~\/~~~

Kallian was lead to a typical meeting room with ceilings raised two stories high, a dais situated near the front with seating for three, and heavy tapestries adorning the walls.

It was the tapestries that drew Kallian's immediate attention, alone in the room as she was. Each one had been woven in painstaking detail. They told a long, and winding tale of – what she assumed to be – the history of the Wardens. On this one, a grotesque mock-up of hurlocks and genlocks, dismembered, and littering a battlefield. On that one, the burnt husks of fallen Warden's, piled beneath a powerful dragon – with one remaining Warden diving in for the kill. Here, there was an image of a chalice held in the grasp of one man, while another looked on, and still another lay dead at his feet. They reminded her a great deal of the carvings she had seen once upon a time in the Deep Roads. Intimidating and breathtaking, and horrific all at once. Nothing at all like the art that adorned the museums of Seheron.

She found it difficult to look away.

Kallian was unaware of how much time passed while she was staring at the hanging fabrics; only the fading light through the windows was an indication that supper had passed. The loud gurgle in her stomach was another.

The sound in her stomach was nearly drowned out by the loud, metallic clanking of the far door being pushed open. She kept her attention directed on the tapestry ahead, but was watching the reflection of the three arrivals in the highly polished suit of arms to her left. Two men (both human) and one woman (an elf), drifted into the room and stopped about halfway through.

Still she did not turn. Let them come to her; it was only fair after all. Seeing as how they made her miss dinner.

"Warden Tabris?" It was the woman that spoke up, the elf. And a mage at that, if the robe she wore was any indication. "Thank you for waiting; there were some matters that needed to be dealt with, and they took longer than expected."

Kallian turned around finally, and clasped her arms behind her back. "I don't suppose any of you brought a crumpet, or perhaps some jerky with you? Someone forgot to show me where the dining hall was."

The men settled down at the chairs along the dais, but the woman lingered. "Our apologies. We will try and keep this discussion brief, so that you may get some food. Traveling by foot is never pleasant." The woman's eyes drifted off into some far-off memory, before she seemed to catch herself. Nodding to no one in particular, she took her seat as well. Leaving Kallian the odd one out, and forcing her to stand near the center of the room, placing them in a position in which they could overlook her from their perch. It was not lost on her that the setting was designed to do exactly that.

The older of the two men – a light-haired man with gray speckling across his brow, and a deep scar across his cheek - spoke up next. "Thank you for joining us, Warden Tabris. Many attempts have been made to locate you these last two years." He gave her a wry smile. "In fact, we have had Wardens looking for you in all corners of Thedas. It was rather surprising to learn that you had been in Seheron all this time." He paused, possibly to let her interject. She did not. "Well then; we have a great many questions for you, as I am sure you are aware. Best that we get started."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Ser. You know my name, but I do not know yours. Perhaps we could exchange that bit of information first, before the questioning begins. "

"I am Commander of the Grey here at Weisshaupt; Enrich is my name. This," he gestured to the man on his left.. "Is Warden Hensley, and she," this time he nodded in the woman's direction, "is the Warden Fiona." Kallian could not help but notice the mangled state of Enrich's hand; evidence of some battle. Kallian nodded, and the Commander continued. "Now, I believe you expressed your interest in eating sometime tonight; perhaps it would be acceptable to you if we dispense with any further pleasantries and get to the matter at hand?"

She bristled at his curt statement, but decided that it would be best to channel Sten for the moment, and behave as the consummate solider for once. "Certainly, Ser."

"Excellent. In which case, perhaps you could tell us – in your own words – just how, precisely, you survived the battle with the Archdemon."

_Oh, crap._ It just figured that they would lead with this; they couldn't possibly ask her if she had any favorite dishes from Seheron to recommend (birch-berry pie), or if she favored her right hand or her left in battle (the left). She relaxed her stance, and raised an eyebrow, hoping that her inner panic would be well-shielded by her outer attitude. It had never done her wrong in the past. Well, except for where certain pastry-loving qunari, royal bastards, and Antivan assassins were concerned. They always seemed to pierce right through her shields. In all manner of ways. "I had the better sword. Ser."

Enrich frowned, but Hensley and Fiona both had to muffle their laughter. It was quite validating. "Would you care to clarify that some more, _Warden_?" The emphasis he placed on the word was not unlike Declan's. Obviously, this man had doubts regarding her acceptability as a Warden in the first place.

"I also believe my ability to scale the thing from behind and thrust the blade into its throat played a part. I find that to be a most effective manner in killing things." This time Fiona guffawed openly, and Hensley had a bit of a coughing fit.

Enrich, however, just looked irritated. "Let's back up for a moment." He slowed his words considerably, as if speaking to child. "The Warden Riordan, did he or did he not explain to both you and the now-King what would happen to the Warden who dealt the killing blow to the beast?"

She blinked, but did not hesitate. "He did."

"So then you most understand our confusion. The Warden who fells the Archdemon cannot survive."

"I don't know what to tell you, Ser. Alis– the King and I went into battle expecting death. Accepting it, even." She took a deep breath, pausing a moment both for effect and to gather her thoughts. She was never able to lie to those she knew, but she had long ago learned how to charm those she didn't. She hoped the lack of recent practice wouldn't damn her in this case.

"When the beast was beaten down enough, I saw my opportunity, and went for it. I was knocked back, unconscious. I awoke several hours later, in the care of a healer within my party. I was beaten raw, and bruised. But alive." She shook her head, and tried to hide her trembling hands. The memory still burned bright and horribly in her mind, and was one she'd rather not visit. "I have no idea why I survived, or why the Archdemon didn't. But I could think of little reason to be anything less than ecstatic at the turn of events." She chuckled, hoping to ease some of her tension. "I rather enjoy being alive, you see."

Fiona smiled wanly at her, but both Hensley and Enrich seemed dubious. Long minutes ticked on by (or so it seemed to Kallian) with not a word spoken. The three exchanged glances, some unspoken conversation passing between them. Eventually, they began to murmur amongst themselves, casting the mot minuscule of glances Kallian's way every so often. She was beginning to fidget on the spot, her lip finding its way between her teeth with little thought on her part, when finally Enrich spoke.

"Your daughter – she is just about 15 months old, correct?"

Kallian's back tensed. _Damn spying messenger__el__f__. Damn __gossiping __Treval. _"Nearly, yes."

"When, do you suppose, was she conceived? Give or take."

_Maker help me. They can't possibly..._But the thought was one that Kallian herself had contemplated on several occasions throughout her pregnancy. It was due to more stress during those months than any concern over the father might have been. Made worse by the fact that the ritual she and Alistair had performed with Morrigan was the one topic she would not broach with Sten. (Some things deserved to remain hidden.)

The moment Adaia was born, however, all of those concerns melted away. If ever there was a less magically adept or god-like child in the world, it was Adaia. No, all of the girl's talents and charms were entirely natural – there was nothing other-worldly about her. Of that she was certain.

These Wardens, however, couldn't possibly know that. Maker - the mere fact that they seemed to be implying what she _thought _they were implying was enough to send her head spinning. Could they possibly have access to the kind of magics that Flemeth and Morrigan did? Was there a repository somewhere listing off all of the things that good little Warden's should never ever try?

Fearing she may have delayed her response overly long, she spouted out the first lie that came to mind, desperate to keep Adaia as far from scrutiny as she could. "She was conceived three days after the siege of Denerim, Ser." She mentally chided herself. Afraid that she might have been too specific. But what else could she do? If they spoke with Declan, or even Treval, they would certainly support the claim that she did not have some long-standing affair with Zevran. She could only hope that the how's and why's regarding Adaia's conception had not been a topic between Zevran and his Warden at least the timeframe was plausible. She was still in Denerim then - there had been a massive feast in celebration of their victory, despite the ruined state of the city.

Enrich blinked his eyes rapidly, seeming taken aback. But it was Fiona that spoke up. "Three days? You are certain?"

Kallian nodded. She kept her hands clasped behind her back where they couldn't see her rubbing her fingers incessantly. "I am. It was...I was only with her father the once. It would be rather hard to forget."

Fiona looked upon Kallian with softening eyes, and gave her a slight smile. But Enrich did not seem so easily convinced. Which was why his next words were so surprising.

"Thank you, Tabris. For the information. Hensley will show you to the dining hall; and then direct you to your room for the evening. I would like to speak with you again in the morning, however. I have some questions regarding some of your companions during the blight that I would like answered."

Kallian sucked in a breath, hoping against hope that they would not delve too far into matters best left untouched. "Of course, Ser."

Kallian glanced one last time at the tapestries before she was shown out of the room; a fiery colored one with a glowing mage at its center, darkspawn dancing around it, caught her eye. The woman on the cloth reminded her of Morrigan, primed as she was to think of the witch. There was a tangled knot in her stomach that made her think it was time to share a bit more with Zevran than she had ever intended before. If only for Adaia's sake.

Oddly enough, she was no longer hungry.

~~~\/~~~

They claimed that it wasn't a trial, but Zevran begged to differ. Kallian had been shuffled off within minutes of their arrival. His anger at the Wardens was only surpassed by his anger towards Kallian, who just swanned off to parts unknown in this maze of a compound, to answer questions that obviously made her sweat just to think about, with barely more than a brief request that he watch after their daughter while she was gone.

He snorted. As if there was any doubt that he would. Had he not just spent the past month and more proving to her that he could be trusted when it came to their daughter? Showing her how wrong she had been to keep him from the girl? He had done everything in his power to illustrate his feelings on the manner. (Sure there had been the occasional mast-scaling, or that one incident with deathroot extraction - but no one had been seriously harmed! Of course, even he could admit that it might not have been advisable to have begun teaching Adaia rope-work, she was surprisingly good at getting things all knotted up.)

He'd even maintained his distance from Kallian, difficult as that was. Allowed their involvement to be that of friends, nothing more. It had required a great deal of effort on his part (and many tumbles into Treval's bed), especially when she was appraising him with hungry eyes. A look that he was accustomed to seeing from many, but never from her. Not save the once. He didn't even think that she was aware of how much she gave away with that look.

Learning that she had been entirely celibate while living with Sten had been quite the shock, but it also explained oh-so-very-much about those looks. None of which was comforting. It had helped him to maintain his resolve, however. Their lives were much too complicated at the moment to allow for just some casual dalliance. He could no longer afford for her to run away. Not with Adaia in the mix.

It was a sobering thought. Realizing that sex could complicate matters. He'd always pitied people who felt that way in the past.

His anger and irritation slackened off to genuine worry after two hours. And now, now he was reduced to wearing a hole in the stone-floor of the assigned bed chamber while he awaited her arrival.

A time was when he wouldn't have had to wait. When he could have crept into the shadows, and found himself a perfect perch outside whatever room (or cell) they had her sequestered in. But he was loath to leave Adaia alone in this place. Neither did he trust her in the hands of any of these newly met Wardens. (Treval and their other Warden traveling companions had been called off for debriefing almost immediately; and Zevran and Adaia had not seen them since.) Having already eaten dinner, Adaia was too worn out from all the excitement of the day to keep her eyes open any longer, so Zevran had been confined to the bed-chamber,with no way of learning what was going on with Kallian for far longer than he would have liked.

"Zevran?" Kallian was standing in the doorway, a perplexed look on her face that surely mirrored Zevran's. He could hardly fathom how preoccupied he must have been to have missed her entrance entirely.

At his surprised glance, she backed out of the room a step, examined the door with narrowed eyes, and then stared down the hall before crossing back inside once more. "'m sorry, maybe I got a bit lost. The housekeeper said that this would be my room."

"And indeed it is." Aches and pains that he hadn't even been aware of were building up quickly dissipated as he threw himself lengthwise onto the bed, enjoying the feeling of the straw-stuffed mattress giving way beneath his weight. He sighed happily as he laced his hands behind his head.

"Oddly enough, the Warden's do not typically house children in their dorms. The only room with enough privacy for Adaia was this one." He gestured towards the adjacent space, no larger than a closet, which held a small cot. Adaia was happily tucked in beneath several light blankets on top.

Kallian paused for several seconds, regarding Zevran with a familiar, critical eye. Seeming to accept the situation, she shut the door with a reverberating clang. "So you, what? Figured that we'd share?"

Zevran silently delighted over the change in her posture, watching as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, accentuating some rather lovely assets. His eyes flickered down in quite the obvious manner, as he stretched out once more along the bed, his tunic splaying openly across his chest. The blush that stained her cheeks at her own momentary distraction with his movement pleased him immensely. "It seemed a sensible notion. The Wardens do not seem to be well-equipped to deal with the likes of us. Do you disagree?"

"I...no." He so loved when she blushed.

He leaned forward, never taking his eyes from her as he began to unlace his boots. "I promise to maintain a respectable distance at all times, if that is your concern."

She took a solitary step forward, a playful grin in place. "And if I don't wish for you to maintain a respectable distance?"

Zevran's blood pulsed in his veins at that look. The suggestion was one he hadn't been expecting. She always looked, but never offered. Never made a play. And while part of him wanted nothing more than to pounce on her, throw her to the bed and remind her just want they could do - could _be - _together, he held himself back. His voice came out as a purr nonetheless.

"While that is a most intriguing thought - one that I would love to discuss with you in more detail at another time - for now I would like to learn what the other Wardens had to say." She frowned, and Zevran pressed his palms flat on the matress, and swung hisnewly bared feet to the floor. With a swagger in his step, he crossed the distance to her, and moved forward into her personal space, unable to resist her entirely. "Afterward, if you are amendable, we can discuss just what qualifies as 'respectable'."

Her breath tickled his throat as she exhaled, but then she stepped back and crossed over to where Adaia lay. She touched a hand to their daughter's cheek, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before walking the length of the room, stopping at the tiny wardrobe along the far wall. "The meeting went surprisingly well, actually. But I fully intend to receive a more robust inquisition tomorrow. Tonight, though, they really just wanted one question answered." Several beats of his heart went by while she composed herself. Her voice sounding smaller when she finally spoke. "They just wanted to know how I survived killing the Archdemon."

Old wounds were prickled open by that statement, but Zevran did his best to keep the evidence hidden. "I admit that I have been equally curious."

Surprised wide-eyes turned to him. "You have?"

"Mmm. Yes. Ever since Alistair let slip the tiny, nearly inconsequential bit of information regarding the obliteration of a Warden's soul, in exchange for dealing the final blow. That sort of thing tends to stick out in a person's mind." Okay, so perhaps he was not keeping his emotions as well hidden as he'd intended. "In fact, I believe I have detailed to you the great many sad and ridiculous attempts he made trying to keep you out of this exact Fortress, quite _specifically_ because he didn't want you to deal with that question."

She worried her lip, like always. "He said that?"

Zevran waved her off, and moved along the side of the bed, until he was only a few feet from her once more. "Not in so many words. No. There were more bumbling, misplaced jokes, and a reference to cheese involved. But the implications were all there, I assure you."

She looked nervous, and Zevran thought that maybe she might finally be willing to fill in some of the gaps. "So tell me, just what did you tell these other Wardens about how the 'Hero of Ferelden' survived?"

Her eyes, those icy blue jewels that he adored, were filled with worry. "I told them a lie."

Zevran sucked air in between his teeth. "Ahh, I suspected as much. You have proven most capable in that regard, I'm sure you sold it completely." In truth, he wasn't. But he wasn't about to confess that to her. "And what, pray tell, are you going to tell me?" He tried not to let his skepticism leak into his voice, but he had so many reasons to doubt her.

"The truth."

~TBC


	11. A Child Unexpected Chapter 9

**Weisshaupt: Twenty-four Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

The qunari were known for their concise statements, and to-the-point questions. They did not mince words. If a statement needed saying, then it was said. And woe to the poor soul who tried to argue its accuracy. Nearly two years spent among them had given Kallian a fine appreciation for their method of conversation.

Rediscovering that most of the citizens of Thedas did not share the qunari's love of brevity was like being dunked in ice water. Abrupt, unexpected, and liable to make you scream.

The fact that the Weisshaupt Wardens seemed to love the sound of their own voices did not improve the situation at all. Well, to be fair, as far as Kallian could tell it was just one warden in particular that was in love with hearing himself talk.

It was the only explanation that Kallian could come up with for the Warden Commander Enrich's incessant, never-ending questioning. Often only varying the words within his sentences by a few bare syllables, seemingly in the hopes of getting a different response from her. And no matter her answer, it always devolved into him telling some dry tale that was neither humorous, nor pointful, before he'd veer back to the topic at hand and ask her the same series of questions. Over, and over again.

At this point, she really had no idea how she could possibly explain the events that had taken place – from the moment of her conscription, to the second she had joined Sten on the ship to Seheron – any more. No battle appeared to be too small, no annoying elf-hater villager too forgettable, no curve in the road too bland. Enrich wanted to hear it all. In excruciating detail.

Kallian thought he ought to get out more.

She'd been more than just a little on edge with the way things had gone that first night. They'd prepped her for a long line of questioning and then just...stopped. After only one question, and a very concerning inquiry regarding her daughter's conception.

Even if she hadn't spent that night in a confessional of her own making with Zevran, she wouldn't have been able to sleep. Not for the visions that were dancing through her mind.

She imagined what they might do to her the following morning. They had a mage with them after all. A mage with enough clout to have the Commander's ear. Perhaps there was some magic that she was not yet familiar with that could compel her to speak? Wynne had never mentioned anything like that (and if Morrigan had known such methods, she surely would have kept them to herself) but that didn't mean that they didn't exist. She'd even considered that they would go the old fashioned route: latch her to a table or string her from the ceiling, and attempt to eke the truth from her via physical pain.

Either scenario she knew she could handle (she still might have confessed, but she could have handled it). What she couldn't handle was the third possibility, the one that tickled the edge of her thoughts. The one where they went after Adaia. Questioned her, tested her, _hurt her_.

The thought made her throat close up with impending panic.

What she hadn't expected, what hadn't even crossed her mind, was that they would want to _talk. _And talk. And **talk. **She guessed they were hoping to wait out the rest of their days as wardens quizzing her on one year of her life (albeit a highly eventful one); until they could finally wander off to the Deep Roads (or wherever Weisshaupt wardens went) when their time came.

It was the slowest, most mind-numbing form of torture possible.

And they had barely touched on the subject of her child after that first day. There had been a few minor throwback questions to those first moments – inquiries into how her pregnancy had gone, if she had experienced any darkspawn associated nightmares or other such visions during those months. A few questions as to Adaia's development, and her interests. But that was all.

It was almost enough for her to let her guard down.

After that she had been prompted to discuss – for an obscene amount of time – her activities in the Fade, and the rescue of the circle mages. She'd been made to recount – no less than three times – her choice to end Connor's life, as if they expected her explanation to somehow change with each repeat. They'd quizzed her on every little facet of how she rallied four armies to her side in barely a year's time.

But what they were far more interested in, it seemed, was lengthy descriptions on each of her companions. Asking how she had acquired them, what talents they brought to the table, whether her or Alistair (or, rather _the King_) had every considered having these assorted miscreants undergo the joining. To which she gave them a very emphatic **no**.

They wanted to know more about each of her companions than anyone could ever possibly expect to know. She knew that they were feeling out her information, looking for holes, hoping to uncover whatever she, or someone she had traveled with, had done to allow Alistair and her to live when the Archdemon died.

And just because they were correct in their assumptions, did not mean that she had any plans to confirm that for them. They could look and look and look for as long as they liked, as far as Kallian was concerned. She had no intention on ever telling them. It may have been some time since she had spoken to her old companion, but she was not about to betray Morrigan's trust.

"Tell me more about the apostate, Morrigan. The one who claimed to be the daughter of the infamous Flemeth."

_Speak of the witch..._Every muscle in Kallian's face twitched with the effort to avoid rolling her eyes or sighing. Heavily. It was taking more will than she had known she possessed to approach the monotonous and repetitive line of question with as Sten a mindset as possible.

It wasn't terribly effective. "You'll have to be more specific, Enrich. I believe I have divulged every tidbit of information that I could on Morrigan, aside from her preference for shirts that left little to the imagination, and staves of the gnarled wood variety. Oh! Well now, I seem to have told you all about that as well."

She ran a hand through her hair, teasing out the tresses along with her stress, and tried to approach things from a more subdued angle. "Morrigan was a comrade. Just like everyone else within the group. Was she an apostate? Yes. Did I much care? No. Aside from the fact that we had a former Templar traveling with us as well, one who I felt fairly confident could contain the mage should anything go wrong..." (In truth, she wasn't entirely certain that was the case. She'd seen Alistair call down incredible powers on some of the mages they had encountered during the blight - a particular encounter with a group of Blood Mages within the caverns north of Haven came to mind - but she rather thought Morrigan and he would have been quite the even match.) "Aside from that, I trusted her. She gave me no reason not to."

Three very different faces looked out at her from dais. One amused (Fiona); one bored (Hensley); and one frustrated (Enrich).

"You trusted her."

"With my life."

"And yet you claim not to know where it is she could have gone – this _witch of the wilds_."

A spark of irritation light her up from the inside. "No, ser. I claimed nothing. I have simply told you the facts as I know them. Nothing more, nothing less. My entire contingent – such as it was – stayed together only for the length of time that it took to defeat the Archdemon. I had no right, nor any need, to demand more from them than that. In case you do not recall, I myself left Ferelden with little word or warning."

The eye above Enrich's scarred cheek twitched. It gave her a perverse amount of satisfaction to see it do so. "Oh yes, we recall quite well."

"My apologies, Commander, but I thought it may have slipped your mind, seeing as how you have asked every question of me no less than twice. I have nothing more to add to any of the topics we have discussed."

"What about ones that we haven't discussed?"

Kallian blinked. "Pardon?"

"You say you have nothing to add to any of the discussions we have had thus far. Is there any information that you could provide for questions we have not yet asked?" Andraste's knickers, he was serious! He actually expected her to just offer up any random bit of information with being specifically prompted? Had he not been engaged in the same sadomasochistic activity as she had been these past weeks?

Fine, if that's how he wanted to play it. "We have not yet discussed the sixteen proverbs that make up the first portion of the qun. Would you like me to go over them chronologically, or would an arrangement by topic be preferred?"

To the right of Enrich, the mage – Fiona – let out a snort, earning herself an agitated glare from the Commander. (Kallian was fairly certain Hensley was asleep at this point.)

"Perhaps you could just tell us about your first encounter with her mother, Flemeth, once more..."

Damn it all, where was Sten and his sword when you needed him?

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Three weeks. Three weeks they'd been left pacing within the walls of Weisshaupt, and Zevran was beginning to lose his patience. Most waking hours, Kallian was locked away being probed for answers, and Adaia (and himself, if he was being honest) was starting to be affected by Kallian's continued absence.

This morning had been a perfect example. Kallian had crept from the room before the morning's first light had shown through the tiny window they were allotted, as per usual. Zevran hadn't awoken at that point, however. No, he awoke when Adaia began to sob at the edge of the bed. Large dollops of salty tears were spilling down her puffed up cheeks, and her normally clear amber eyes were rimmed in red. A chant of 'Mama Mama Mama' issuing from her small, but powerful, lungs.

He'd been beside himself with not knowing what to do. She'd never had such a fit before, and he had been helpless to stop it – a feeling he found distressing. Even slipping in and out of the shadows, an activity that normally sent her into peels of laughter, had just made things worse. He'd ended up resorting to a form of bribery, in the form of a sweet milk pilfered from the kitchens before breakfast had even been served, just to get her to calm enough to look at him while he cleaned her nose and face.

The rest of the morning and afternoon she'd been nearly on the edge of crying at all times, wanting nothing more than her mother. He'd carted her around the fortress, tucked into his arms, for hours, trying to find something of interest to distract her. He'd finally found the solution at the mabari pens, where she was slobbered on and mud-drenched until her heart was content.

But the situation was one that Zevran never wanted to find himself in again, and he found his irritation towards the Warden-Commander and his boot-licking companions increasing by multitudes every moment.

Just how many different ways could they go about asking her the same questions? If they didn't believe her by now, despite the lack of variation in her response, what could they possibly hope to accomplish with continued prodding? And so far, they had expressed no interest in employing…other methods of coercion. A fact for which he was most grateful. (He'd clocked the time it would take him to slice the Commander's throat, and withdrawal from the fortress with both Adaia and Kallian in tow undetected, and he was not comfortable with the number.)

He was antsy. Frustrated. And more than a little angry by his complete exclusion from the proceedings.

Not that he hadn't done his best to enter uninvited. He'd employed every skill at his disposal. From sweet talking one of the housekeepers mucking about the place (that had only earned him a flustered series of giggles), to bribing the Warden-Commander's right hand man (there had been a gleam in Hensley's eye that told Zevran he was sorely tempted, if unwilling), and cajoling Treval into taking Adaia for a tour of the grounds – no questions asked – for several hours. Twice. So that he could slink in the dark recesses provided by the ample halls, and attempt to force entry into the meeting room .

But he'd failed every time. He'd gotten much better at lockpicking over the years (Leliana had been a great resource during the blight), but his skills were no match for the mage, Fiona, that was holed up with Kallian in that meeting room. She'd thwarted his every attempt, and by the sly smirk that would grace her face at every meal that they both attended, she was well aware.

Any and all attempts to seduce her into allowing him entry and been met with uproarious laughter (the kind he wouldn't have suspected from an elf her size), and Kallian watching him with narrowed eyes.

And so it had gone on, day after day. From the time the sun rose, until the moon was already high in the sky, with the three of them only in the same room when eating or sleeping.

And every morning (starting from their very first one at the fortress, where they had come and collected her at the most heinous of hours from their shared chambers) someone would be by to cart Kallian off to another meeting with the fool Commander and his lackeys.

The night following the first morning they had collected her, had possibly been the worst of them all. He had no idea what sort of question they had asked, for when she'd returned, she'd been exhausted and unwilling to talk about anything at all. She'd just climbed right into the bed, boots and all; mumbled about cookies and ale, curled up with her mabari, and fallen asleep.

That hadn't been too surprising, though, not considering that she'd barely closed her eyes the previous night, before they were awaken by wardens calling at their door. Zevran knew that well enough, as they had spent a large portion of the night in discussion, before succumbing to sleep.

"_You – you are telling me that Morrigan and __**Alistair**__..." He paused, waiting for the nod of confirmation that Kallian provided. Stunned was not a word that did his emotions justice at that moment. Zevran wasn't certain that there was an adequate enough word in either her language or his._

She'd gotten quite upset when he'd begun to laugh. He'd been powerless to stop wave after wave of stomach clenching guffaws, however, despite her stern and blushing face.

He hadn't even been able to stop when Adaia awoke as a result of the noise.

Laughing uproariously with his daughter joining in, arms tossed around his neck as he attempted to sidestep the both of them away from the angry Warden in the room, had been the most fun he'd had in ages.

Eventually, he'd managed to calm down. Still completely floored by the knowledge that Alistair had agreed to conceive a child – a child with _the soul of an old god_ – with the apostate. He'd always put on quite a show of hating the witch. To the point that it had almost seemed contrived. Forced. Zevran had always thought it stunk of "thou doth protest too much" and in the privacy of his own thoughts, he didn't believe for a second that it would have been nearly as awful as Kallian seemed to believe it had been.

He had no intention of dispelling that notion, however. Let her believe whatever she liked regarding Alistair. He no longer held any animosity towards the man; and had spent enough time around the bastard King to know that he was not completely immune to a beautiful woman's charms. And the knowledge that he was not as golden as he liked to pretend, buoyed Zevran's spirits, though he'd never speak such a thing out loud.

Once they'd managed to calm Adaia, Kallian's voice – void of all inflection – had dropped the next bomb, which had been the cause of the remaining hours of missed sleep for the pair.

"_I think the Warden's suspect something, Zevran."_

"_Well of course they suspect something. I doubt that they would have gone to all of this trouble to locate you, and have you hand delivered by a tri of wardens, if they thought everything was...by the book." He'd shot her the most disarming smile he could manage, given the precarious position of extricating his daughter's sleeping form from his person. "You said it yourself, you were meant to die on that tower. The very fact that you live is suspicious enough." His heart clenched against his will, he didn't like the idea of her dying any more now than he did then. _

"_That's not what I mean."_

_He'd finally shuffled their daughter into her blankets – pausing to brush his lips upon her cheek – and crossed the room to where Kallian had settled on the bed. Her lips were settled in a thin line, she wasn't even nibbling on the lower one like she did so often. That was a bad sign. _

_Long, tangled strands of hair had fallen out of the knot she kept them in, to cross over her nose. With only a small amount of thought, he reached up and brushed it back, behind her ear. Taking note of the way she huffed in a breath and held it when his skin touched hers. "Then say what it is you mean."_

"_I think they may suspect that a...a _child _may be involved."_

_The hair on his arms prickled, a chill washing through him and over him. "Adaia..."_

_She nodded in tandem with turning away. "It's not possible, of course."_

"_Do you know that for certain?"_

_She whirled back to him, her face red and eyes narrowed. "Do you have any doubts? You believe that she could-"_

"_No. I do not. But believing such a thing and _knowing it_, my dear, are two vastly different situations. So I ask again: _are you certain?" _While he didn't want to think such a thing, he had to acknowledge the possibility. _

_The irritation that had been rolling off of her in waves settled down, and the calm he remembered her exhibiting in battle took its place. "Yes."_

_It was amazing how much weight one little syllable could lift from a person's shoulders. _

Sleep came not terribly long after, as the sky outside was already beginning to show signs of pink and orange. Zevran had watched the light bleed through the window while Kallian had curled into the pillows and tugged Zevran's arm across her middle. He'd allowed himself bare moments of temptation, let his fingers stroke along the exposed expanse of her stomach. Soft, and curved in delicious ways. Let his lips taste the heated skin at the base of her neck.

And then that knock had come, and Zevran had been forced to bite his tongue in order to prevent the curses dancing on its tip from flying free. Kallian had gone willingly, and he hadn't seen her again until the following night.

It was the first of many days of frustration for him.

The entire scenario seemed pointless. It was obvious to everyone that they didn't believe her – or rather, that a very specific and important group didn't believe her. And yet day after day they would gather her up, and she would go without complaint, despite the obvious exhaustion she was feeling.

It was like she was paying some sort of penance.

The one bright spot so far had been their near daily lunches. Back during the blight, he'd always known that Kallian enjoyed his company – even when she was twittering around Alistair. She'd been the closest thing to an honest friend he could recall having had in his life. She'd shucked off her worries about his trustworthiness nearly from the beginning, and practically welcomed him with open arms.

For his part, he'd found her approach to life refreshing, and was awed by her prowess with a blade (despite her lack of finesse). And often (too often in Alistair's opinion, he knew) he'd been able to lure her aware for conversation over meals or some other innocuous activity. But never before had he been on the receiving end of smiles like the ones she'd bestow upon him and Adaia while the three of them would meet up for lunch.

Before, there had always been something falling in between them. Whether it was the blight, or a bastard King, or Sten (and that relationship still did not make one hundred percent sense – the idea of an entirely platonic affection was something wholly alien to him). During these lunches, however, the only thing between them was their daughter. And when both of them sent those identical smiles in his direction, it made his chest clench with nerves in a way that he couldn't recall having felt before.

And now, on a day when the connection between the three of them was most needed - given Adaia's tiny breakdown that morning - lunch time had come and gone, and there was no sign of her. Adaia, worn out from all the emotional ups and downs of the day (and the rump with the mabaris), had fallen asleep across his lap nearly a half-hour ago, mud-specks dried on her cheeks. It was time to carry her off for to her cot for a much needed nap.

With as exhausted as he was feeling he thought that he may just lie down and join her.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

It was late in the afternoon before the inquisition squad (as Kallian had dubbed them) had seen fit to release her from her irritating prison and permit her a break for lunch. She had planned on meeting with Zevran and Adaia (one of the only highlights to her days in this dreary place, well, that and the moments that she could sneak off to the smithy) for the meal, but had missed them by more than an hour. The food that was left over from an entire warden contingent's midday meal was lackluster and lukewarm at best.

Sitting alone, she just couldn't find the stomach for it this day, not without the nearly incoherent, but melodic babble of her daughter, and the sly and slick gaze of one golden-haired elf missing from her side.

What she wouldn't give to see the two of them waltz into the hall right then. Adaia propped on Zevran's shoulders and Zevran's sinful mouth pulled into an honest and toothy smile. Her stomach curled pleasantly with warmth at the thought. Every day, she found herself aching for more time with them. More time to see her daughter explore the nooks and crannies of every stone within the walls of the fortress. More time to absorb the casual return of Zevran's easy camaraderie. Ever since she had confessed to the ritual that Morrigan and Alistair had undergone, it had been like a lock had been turned. He was no longer as guarded with her as he had been, conversing with her more openly. Filling her in on life in the alienage as he had last seen it (the doors that barred it from town had long since been removed, and funds for the repair of many of the structures had been provided by the King), and discussing the many ways that one could irritate Anora without being caught (most of which, where thought up by Zevran, and supposedly perpetuated by Alistair).

And she hadn't seen Treval by his side in more than a week.

Of course, despite all that there was still one aspect where he was behaving in a decidedly not-Zevran fashion. Namely that they had been sharing a bed for nearly three weeks, and he had yet to make use of the compromising position. She had woken up on several occasions to find his arms tucked around her, his warmth and scent enveloping her, and her body responding in that all-too-familiar and completely neglected way, but the culmination she kept expecting to arrive never did.

The fact that he was not pouncing on her, made worry bubble up inside her. From the moment she had met him, Zevran had been (amongst many other things) walking sex. To have him not take what was so clearly being offered made her nervous and unsure of herself.

The most concerning part for her, was that the more time spent within proximity to Zevran; the more time she had to inhale that spicy scent of his; the more time to feel the heat pulsating from his body as they sat pressed side to side over lunch - fussing over their daughter (Kallian would attempt to extract from her hands whatever treat Zevran had snuck her under the table, only to have him produce something to replace it a moment later) - the more time she found she _wanted _to spend with him.

It was fast contorting into an addiction.

And when she was given time, such as now, to contemplate the two of them, she couldn't be certain which fantasy she found more compelling, the one wherein Theodore showed up to collect Adaia for some activity or another, and Zevran was able to spread her across the table and kiss his way up her body from legs to lips; or the one where they sat together as a family at the table, helping Adaia to sort out one of her puzzle toys, or seeing if she could work out a shroud knot.

The wooden bench across from Kallian's seat scraped suddenly against the stone floor, drawing her from her internal musings. The shuffle of cloth that reached her ears identified the newest occupant of the bench as the mage, Fiona. She didn't even need to look up from the mushy peach-colored tuber on her plate to confirm.

"You don't care for the food here at the fortress I see."

A smile twitched at Kallian's lips, the answer obvious as she drug her fork through her mostly untouched meal. "I suppose not."

Fiona wrinkled her nose. "It is not the most...tasteful cuisine, I agree. But it does grow on you after some time. I myself am quite fond of the rhubarb and beef stew."

"Haven't had the pleasure of that one. So far I think I've experienced at least a dozen ways to massacre a potato, however."

"Perhaps you should issue a complaint to the mess hall staff."

The laugh bubbled up warm and quick from Kallian's throat, of all the warden's she had met since arriving at the fortress, Fiona appeared the most reasonable. (Even if Kallian did resent her somewhat for the role she played in the daily mental probing.) "And give the cooks a reason to add rashvine or bitterwort to my meals? No thanks. I think I'll take my chances with the normal meals. Sketchy though they may be."

"A reasonable choice." The mage shifted her hands to the table in front of them, holding her posture straight. "I want to discuss something with you."

The groan escaped Kallian before she could stop it. She liked Fiona more than the rest, but she was still as abrupt and frustrating as any of the others at times. "More questions? Are you curious as to the color of the sky in Ferelden, or what the fashion was in the alienage the last time I was there? I think there is very little else that I have not divulged at this point."

The other elf arched a brow. "There is fashion to speak of in an alienage?"

"More so than you would find within the walls of a circle."

"I'll have you know there is quite the variety in circle issued robes. Why, when I was there we had our pick of blue, red, or a sort of puce colored monstrosity. Quite flattering, really."

Kallian pointedly eyed the streamlined robe that the mage wore, a full-length deep blue piece with (in Kallian's opinion) an extraneous amount of ribbing and strategic use of feathers. It was quite lovely, if a bit odd. "Well, at least your tastes have improved."

The other elf's lips twitched in a near frown, and Kallian got the distinct impression that she was lost in her own memory. "It's been a long time, and many things have changed."

The silence that fell between them while Kallian continued to not eat stretched out for several beats longer than was comfortable. "If you had something to discuss, other than clothing preferences, I'd rather you just get it over with so I can continue to stare at my food in peace."

"If you insist." There was a beat before the mage continued. "Before you arrived, Declan sent over a briefing of his opinions via messenger. In his opinion, your disdain for the Grey Wardens – while quite evident in your abandonment of duty these past two years – was not reflected in your speech. He said that when you allowed yourself, you even seemed to enjoy discussing the battles leading towards the slaying of the Archdemon. That there was a sort of...passion, in your eyes for it.

"I confess, this passion seems to be lacking from the recount of your experiences to us. I'd even go so far as to say you found it dull."

Kallian huffed out an irritated breath of air. "Perhaps it is the ridiculous level of questioning that I find dull. Had I'd known upon my conscription that every step I took from then on would have to be accounted for, I'd have hired a record keeper to tag along. I met several decent ones in Orzammar you know. Not that any of them would have appreciated being drug to the surface as my assistant, but I'm sure an arrangement could have been made."

"Or perhaps it has to do with your level of comfort. Declan's reports indicated that it was often your companion, Zevran, that would engage you in conversation regarding your time as an active warden. Maybe we should invite him along to the next session."

"If you want a full retelling of all the best brothels, inns, and dirty limericks in Ferelden, than perhaps you should. However, you will have to excuse me from the proceedings, as I can't have my daughter wandering the fortress unaccompanied. She may be small, but she is a demon when it comes to knotting ropes and twisting locks."

"You worry for your child."

"Of _course_ I worry for my child! Wouldn't you if you were in my position?"

The mage gave Kallian a long look, her mouth curved in a frown. "Yes. I would. There is a reason that wardens are not meant to have children, you know."

Kallian snorted. "You mean besides the fact that we are poisoned with darkspawn blood, rendering us with little to no choice of what to do with our lives? Regardless of whether or not we even _want_ to become wardens?"

"It is a dangerous life that we lead."

"Of that, I am aware."

"You know, the amount of bitterness you carry towards the Grey Wardens, considering that being conscripted saved your life, is both senseless and childish."

Kallian closed her eyes for a moment, begging the qun philosophers, the Maker, Andraste, and all the ancestors in Orzammar for patience. "Do not mistake me. I am thankful for Duncan's intervention. Had he not stepped in I'm certain I wouldn't have lived to see Denerim under siege. Nor would I have ever had my daughter. But that is not the same thing as being thankful that the Wardens would have my life and my choices be no more my own now, than they were back when I awaited an arranged marriage within the walls of the alienage. Duncan did me a great service that day, but I have paid my debt in full."

"Duncan wouldn't have conscripted you if he hadn't believed you had what it took to be a warden. And considering that you survived killing the Archdemon, no one would argue he was right."

Something in the way that Fiona's voice lingered on Duncan's name, like she was taste-testing its sound, caught Kallian's attention. "Did you know Duncan then?"

One nod, brief, and concise. It reminded Kallian of home. "Yes. Long ago. He...also did me a great service once."

Kallian wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "He conscripted you as well?"

"No. No, his favor to me came later. We both joined the wardens at nearly the same time. He was...a good friend."

Kallian had no idea what possessed her, but her lips seemed to have a mind of their own. "Were you and he-"

There was a tinkling sound, like a young girl's laugh. It was strangely out of place coming from the older elf. "No, nothing like that."

Kallian's thoughts drifted off to the dark haired man, remembering the calm way he approached situations. She hadn't known him but a few weeks, only the time it took to travel to Ostagar from Denerim really, and the stories that Alistair had told had fleshed out only the tiniest of parts. He may have been her former lover's mentor, but the two hadn't been all that well acquainted, despite what Alistair liked to believe. "Then you were friends?"

"We were."

"What was he like, when he was younger?"

"Foolish. Brash. Quick to anger at times. An accomplished thief, and a demon with his blades. But he was loyal, even when his instincts told him to behave otherwise."

"A thief? Hah! Oh, how Alistair would love to learn that little tidbit."

"Alistair? Your old companion...the Ferelden King?"

"Hmm, oh yes. Yes. Duncan recruited him as well you know. He...idolized him a bit, I guess. Not sure how he would take learning that he wasn't some golden child."

"Tell me about him."

"Pardon?"

"Alistair – the King – tell me about him."

Kallian dropped her fork and groaned. "Is that all this was about? Getting my guard down so that I could tell more stories, answer more questions? Don't you ever get tired of listening to me yap?"

"Yes, actually. But Enrich is determined to break your spirit."

Kallian rolled her eyes. "I hadn't noticed."

"Clearly its not working."

"Not in the slightest."

"I admit, it's not...the most enjoyable of situations. But we all know that there are things you have omitted from your accounts of the blight. Known that since day one. You can hardly expect us to just ignore that."

"I've done nothing _but_ tell you everything that you've asked."

Fiona's laugh was less girly this time, more resigned and wizened. "Perhaps you have, that doesn't mean that you haven't lied about any of it, however. You showed that well enough your first night."

The urge to tug her lip into her mouth and chew was almost impossible to ignore, but Kallian managed. "What do you mean?"

"You don't honestly think we believed your account of when daughter was conceived, did you?"

The blood drained from Kallian's face in one swift move. _Oh, Maker... _"I-"

Fiona held a hand up. "It's alright, Kallian. No one is a saint. And no one is judging you for wanting to protect your daughter. It is what any mother would do." There was a fierceness to her words that gave Kallian pause, but she had little time to reflect on that before the other woman was speaking again. "It was simply the fact that you would tell a lie so readily, and so early, that has convinced Enrich that you have something to hide."

"How do you know that I was lying about her conception?"

"Aside from the fact that absolutely no one in this place believes that your dalliance with Zevran lasted but one night? "

"...Yes."

"Call it instinct. But it doesn't matter."

"If it doesn't matter, then why bother bringing the topic up in the first place?"

"I...am not at liberty to say. But, if it eases your mind at all, no one is going after your child, of that I can assure you." Again there was a bit to her words and a flash in her eyes that tugged at the corner of Kallian's mind, but she couldn't quite place it. "And I am not here to poke you for more information a la Enrich. I am simply...curious."

Kallian wanted to believe her, she really did. She wanted to believe that the wardens had no designs on Adaia. But it did seem they thought that whatever had saved her life could possibly involve a child. She needed to be careful here. "Forgive me if I find inquires such as this a bit unbelievable. Why are you so curious about him?"

Fiona turned her gaze from Kallian, staring instead towards the stone archway that lead back towards the courtyard area. She looked...pensive. "You've spoken of him at length, but never about his personality, not really. I-I knew the old King, a long while ago. I wonder how alike they may be."

"You knew King Calian?"

The mage redirected her stare to meet Kallian's. "No. I knew their father...as did Duncan."

"Oh." _Oh. _The distinct way that Fiona's voice changed when she spoke the word 'father' was all the answer Kallian had needed.

Just how many lovers had King Maric taken?

If pressed, Kallian would say that it was the earnest look on Fiona's face that convinced her to spend the remainder of her lunch break discussing the finer points of Alistair's personality to a slightly enraptured mage.

What was more surprising then her sudden willingness to divulge all the silliest bits of information on Alistair that she could think of (from his favorite cheeses to his obsession with runes) to someone who had surely been just another bit on the side for his father, was the realization that it did not make her miss Alistair in the slightest. That had become a faded part of her history.

It did make her miss Zevran, though. Immensely. She wanted him there, beside her. Joining them in conversation. Not just because he too would get a kick out of having uncovered such a tawdry little secret in Weisshaupt of all places, but because of the unique way he had of telling tales. What he lacked in the poetry department, he made up with his prose. He could twist any word so that it could be laden with innuendo on second, and lesson building the next. (Zevran may not have been the most moral of men, but that didn't mean that he lacked a code of ethics – it was just…somewhat tilted from the norm.)

She wanted him there, charming Fiona with his words, while she sat next to him, pressed just slightly closer than decorum would allow. Their daughter situated on her lap, so that her senses were overloaded by the two of them, and she could make pretend that what they had was as normal a family as anyone else.

Could pretend that they were even a family at all.

And she wanted them to be. She wanted it with all the breath in her body; and it was long past time that she did something about it.

Now, if only she could get Fiona to convince Enrich to let her off early for once. After all, one good turn deserved another, right?

~TBC


	12. A Child Unexpected Chapter 10

**Weisshaupt: Twenty-four Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

Either any manipulative skills Kallian once possessed had gone to rot in Seheron, or the Weisshaupt Wardens had some natural immunity. Regardless, it added up to Kallian being unable to sweet-talk her way into a reprieve from the questioning, even just the once. Despite her lengthy (and voluntary) bit of girl-talk with Fiona over lunch.

Even more agitating was the fact that her inquisitorial squad had left her alone and twiddling her thumbs for what felt like hours. Dinner time had come and gone, and she wanted nothing more than to bail on the remainder of the days talks, and scarf down whatever passed for food in the mess tonight, so loud was the rumbling in her stomach.

But they would just have come and gathered her, and she hated that. Hated being herded around like some farm animal that was misbehaving. So she waited, amusing herself by mentally preparing a great and swashbuckling take of her battle against 'Flemeth the High Dragon and Wilder Witch of Ill Repute!', since they hadn't seemed too happy with her most recent account of: 'I stuck a sword in her, she died. The end.'

When they did return, it was with more tension in their shoulders than she had every seen. Hensley, who she normally equated to having the emotional range of a push-broom looked perturbed. Whereas Enrich looked somewhat resigned, and a tad annoyed. And Fiona was giving her the most pitying look she'd ever seen on the mage.

Kallian found anger building up inside her, had Fiona used something that she had said against her? Had she said anything that _could be_ used against her? Kallian couldn't think of anything, but perhaps all the questions of: 'So he likes...dolls?' and 'A hayloft! What do you mean he slept in a **hayloft**? !' had really been covers for... Kallian had absolutely no idea.

But all of her worry was forgotten in the tidal wave of words that fell out of Enrich's mouth over the next ten minutes. Very little had been as unexpected in her life save the discovery that she was going to have Adaia. Really. _Nothing. _

"Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You want me – _me –_ to take over the Ferelden Grey Warden base in Amaranthine? Did all of you somehow miss the part were I emigrated to Seheron without leave for the past two years?"

A severely quirked eyebrow was her immediate response. "You should be rather well rested then." The man was mocking her. Bastard. "And do not fear, we _do _intend to provide you with mounts for the travel, should make the trip almost pleasurable, and quite a bit shorter than it otherwise would have been. I'd say it'd be quite a step up from what you are use to."

Horses? He thought that _horses_ would make things easier. Clearly, he'd never seen her get within a meter of one. She clamped down on her irritation so as to avoid shouting. "There must be _someone_ more suitable to the task..."

"I'm having a hard time thinking of any who would be better suited to _defend Ferelden _than the _Hero of Ferelden._ It seems like the job description matches your exemplary qualifications most perfectly."

There was a sputtering sound, she could only surmise that it came from her. "But I, I've barely lifted a sword in all this time!" Oh, she was _really _grasping at straws now. She'd been working with blades since she was barely mobile, thanks to her mother. She'd never mentioned that to them, however.

"Really? My sources say that you have been apprenticing with one of the premier smiths in Seheron. And doing a reasonable enough job at that. Not too mention, I've heard word that you've been pestering our own smith here."

"Damned spies." She scoffed, her arms crossing over her chest. "Making swords is highly different then wielding them."

"If that is truly your only concern, then you will feel most relieved to learn that the trip to Amaranthine will take near on three months. There should be plenty of time to hone any rusty skills between now and your arrival."

It was her turn to raise dubious eyebrows. "Three months? How can you even be certain that the Keep will hold until my arrival, if it is in as dire straits as you claim."

"While the Warden contingent that has been presiding at the Keep these past two years has taken quite a blow, there are several newly minted Wardens in residence. Though they are not seasoned, such as yourself, the reports we have received have been relatively...complimentary."

"And why, precisely, can't one of them take over where the Orlesian left off?" Kallian was thoroughly baffled as to why they seemed to think that she alone would be the key to Amaranthine's defense.

The Warden Commander sighed heavily, and lifted his scarred four-fingered hand to rub at his temple. "The running of the Keep is a delicate matter. It is not merely the darkspawn that must be dealt with, although that will be your primary task, but the Arling of Amaranthine is also in need of a new ruler. The people will not accept just anyone in that position. They barely accepted the Orlesian Commander, and that was only through much cajoling on the part of his men; and now with his death, the city is quickly degenerating once more. The new Wardens are...less than appropriate options, politically speaking."

She blinked at them. He couldn't possibly be saying what she thought he was saying... "Are you saying that I will be the Arlessa, as well as the Commander?"

"That was the general plan, yes."

"But- I'm – How can-" She was aware that she was gaping like a fish, but she didn't much care. "But I'm an elf!"

"Well, that certainly explains the short stature and your ears. If that is your only concern, then you need not worry. You are a Warden, first and foremost. And, to the people of Ferelden, you are also a hero. They will accept you as their Arlessa."

Kallian's mind was reeling. It seemed most ridiculous, the idea of her being placed in charge of an entire city. But it also gave her a giddy little thrill. One that she wouldn't admit to anyone. Save for Shianni, of course.

"Do you have any other objections?" In point of fact, Kallian did have one large objection. An objection that came in the form of delightful hugs, and an eager personality (albeit one a bit too fond of mud).

"And what of," she swallowed, uncertain that she even wanted to voice the most obvious problem for fear it would give them further cause to wonder, "what of my daughter?"

"Your daughter has a father, does she not? She should be well in his company. Obviously, we advise against bringing her with you to the Keep. It is not a very safe compound at the present time for one so young. But, ultimately, the decision is yours as to what is to be done with her."

She sucked in a shuddering breath, and turned wary eyes to the lone woman sitting on the dais before her. The woman gave a sad smile in return, and Tabris thought she might speak, but it was Hensley that spoke. "This is why Warden's are strongly advised against bearing children, Tabris. It is a dire life we lead, you know this as well as the rest of us." He snuck a glance at Fiona, and Kallian thought that there was something she was missing there. But she had more important things to worry about at the moment.

"If I do this. If I take over for your damned Orlesian failure, will I have your assurance that we're done? That you will find someone else to run the Keep – and the city? I'll travel the deep roads when its my time, but until then, I want to know that my life is my own. I've spilt enough blood." Her words sounded confidant, but inside she was one big bundle of unrealized energy.

There was a moment's hesitation between the Wardens in front of her, but it passed quickly. "_If_ that is what you wish. Then yes. Provided the darkspawn threat has been diminished, and the city is in working order. I'm certain that something could be arranged at that point. If I were you, I'd be more concerned about the immediate issue of survival, Commander Caron was not a mere recruit."

"You leave that part up to me, I assure you, I have lived through worse."

The smile on Enrich's face was foreign in its sincerity. "Indeed. Does this mean that you are excepting this station?"

"No." The color drained from Enrich's face, and Kallian paused just long enough to watch the red of anger and irritation start to claw up his neck. It gave her no small amount of pleasure. "But I am not turning it down either. I need time to dis... to think on this, so that I can make an informed decision. I believe that a day should suffice."

"You shall have the morning only. We have precious little time to waste in this matter, and if you can not be compelled to return to your duties, we will have to find someone suitable who will."

Somehow Kallian highly doubted that they had any other options, or they never would have asked her in the first place. "Of course."

Outwardly, Kallian thought that she was doing a damn fine job of seeming stoic, and cool-headed (now that the shock had warn off and she wasn't flailing about verbally anymore), but her internal systems were in flux. She wasn't certain if she wanted to run, shine, vomit, or some odd combination of all three.

As they dismissed her, she found she no longer had any appetite, the thought of food made her empty stomach churn uncomfortable. But the urge to seek out Zevran had replaced the want for food. It was an urge too strong to resist.

She had decided that afternoon that she needed to talk to him, tell him how she felt, if only for the sake of easing her slowly ebbing sanity when she was around him. She'd done him so many injustices by not being entirely honest in the past, and just because she had no real hope that he would return her feelings was no reason to continue keeping secrets from him. He had earned that from her at least.

But now – now she couldn't just have some awkward one-sided confession with him; instead she needed to have what was _certain _ to be a lengthy discussion regarding what the Wardens had planned. What they had requested. And that thought was even more terrifying.

It was all Enrich's fault. Bastard.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Zevran never slept deeply. His life hadn't ever allowed for that sort of luxury, and with Adaia quietly snoring only steps away, he felt constantly on edge. He knew all too well the kind of complacency that could overtake someone at night, and when it was only him that he had to worry on, he didn't much care. He was secure enough in his abilities. But Adaia...well she added a whole other dimension to the word 'vigilance' and he was not going to allow her to come to harm. No matter how secure the walls may appear.

There was also the matter of his memories playing havoc on his mind. He'd never taken a contract to kill a child. It had been an arbitrary line drawn in the sand, but his masters knew better than to cross it, and so he'd rarely been offered such a job. He had, however, been the last sight many a person had seen, screams silenced in their throat, while their children slept soundly and unaware in the other room.

In-home assassinations took a particular skill set. One needed to be highly adept at stealth, and able to make a clean and quiet kill. One that wouldn't be discovered until the sun was high in the sky the following morning. He'd been particularly sought after for those, and had considered it a matter of pride that he could accomplish his tasks so swiftly and silently.

Never once had he thought about who was most likely to find those bodies. Cold and stiff to the touch. Speckles of blood on their lips, or cheek. The lingering scent of poison mixed with the metallic scent of their blood suffusing the room. He'd never considered what it would do to a child to find their mother, or their father, in such a state.

Those kills had given him no more pause than any other (which was to say, very little). Until now.

Now, when he closed his eyes, he was as likely to dream of whorehouse romps, or Kallian spread beneath a tree with a coy smile upon her lips, as he was to envision Adaia desperately trying to wake an hours dead corpse. Her large honey eyes, so like his own, wet with tears.

He hadn't had trouble sleeping like this since that visit to the Fade oh-so-many years ago. Kallian had helped him put those demons to rest, even if she hadn't known it – but now he had found all new ones.

He'd take dreams of the rack any day over these.

The moon had already begun to dip low in the sky, dimming the light that fed into the room from the small window, when Kallian crept through the door and began to shuck off her daily wear. Zevran remained where he was, lying on his back amongst the rough cotton sheets, covers drawn down to his waist. He'd taken to sleeping with smallclothes on, on account of Adaia (he'd learned during their time at sea that she occasionally woke during the night, and would snuggle into the nearest adult occupied bed), but he saw no reason to don a shirt.

It was a pleasant torture, feeling the weight of Kallian's body so near his own while she slept. When she was near, the nightmares were lessened, so it was worth the battle of wills he played against himself Still, he'd caught himself, on several occasions, reaching for her – wanting to tug her body beneath his and feel her hot breath on his lips, until she could do nothing but scream to the heavens. But he'd refrained.

When it happened – and he knew now that it was a matter of when, not if, he was not so well-controlled as to keep his distance indefinitely – he wanted to know that it was entirely her choice, not the result of him being...well, _him_.

Although it did make him wish he hadn't so cleanly severed ties with Treval. He was an enoyable, if overly clingy, method of stress relief.

And aside from the allusions she had made that very first night, Kallian had almost pointedly avoided the posibility ever since. Dodging his flirtations with the kind of expertise that would make the Crows proud.

Which is probably why, when she pulled the covers down from him this time, he was not quite expecting her to crawl along the length of his body. Was not expecting her hair – released from the confines of the ever-present bun she kept it in, to draw slowly along the exposed skin navel to neck as she settled herself across him. Held up from his body by two lithely-muscled arms, with a strategic positioning of her knees on either side of his hips.

Her eyes, icy gems that shone down on him with determination, would have been enough to set his blood to boiling even if her delightfully-warm skin was not brushing against parts of him with each inhale and exhale of her lungs. He was finding it suddenly very hard to focus on anything but those minute interactions.

"Zevran."

"Warden."

"I've been thinking."

"And do these thoughts require you being in such close proximity to my person. Not that I mind, but I find myself quite curious, and interested in pressing the boundaries..." He pointedly glanced down along her torso, before dragging his eyes back up to hers. It took every ounce of his self-restraint to avoid grasping her hips and pressing his mouth to hers. Especially when she cocked her head the way that she was now, lower lip being oh-so-gently nibbled upon. He had no idea what had set her off, and perhaps that should be discussed. But he had no will to refuse. Not tonight. Not when it had been far too many hours since he had seen her last, and the bitter taste of nightmarish visions on his tongue was still fresh.

She leaned close, the heat or her breath coating his lips. "You know what? Nevermind. Thinking is overrated."

When the taste of her exploded against his mouth a moment later, he found he couldn't argue. His hands snaked up under her tunic, discovering with no small amount of joy that it was the only article she had left on prior to attacking him in the middle of the night.

His fingers skimmed her breasts, and she growled at him, long and low, and delicious. The sound had shot right through him, arousing him further. But this was not a night for such demonstrations. "Ahh ahh ahh, my dear Grey Warden. While I would like nothing more than to hear you scream my name. I'm afraid that we have...overly sensitive ears nearby. I've only just gotten her to sleep."

She nodded, and spared a glance towards Adaia's alcove, before dipping down for another kiss, this one softer, less urgent. It made something deep within him coil and pulse. The sensation was akin to a slow asphyxiation (something he had a small amount of experience in): dangerous and painful, but not entirely unpleasant.

He flipped her beneath him, and trailed a wet line from her mouth to her neck, sucking on the pulse-point he found there. The look in her eyes when he pulled away fired up apart of him he had long since relegated to the most protected portions of his mind, and he found himself having to fight back the urge to quote awful poetry, or spout off ill-advised romantic notions.

Instead he kissed her again, and let his body do the talking for him in a way that he could only hope she would understand; nightmares all but forgotten.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

No one that met her, would ever claim that Kallian was a coward. And yet, here she was, sneaking out like a thief in the night – barely after dawn – from the warm cocoon of Zevran's arms. It had been excruciating, leaving his side. The mingled sound of his breath, and Adaia's soft snuffles from the little alcove on the other side of the room, did their best to lull her back to sleep. But she needed time to think. To evaluate.

To make certain that she hadn't just royally screwed everything up.

It hadn't been what she planned. No, not in the slightest. She had meant to approach him, talk with him. Maybe – just maybe – pry out his feelings for her. Determine where it was they stood with each other.

But instead, she'd let her emotions (damnable things) get the better of her, and she'd opted to go the less wordy route.

If she had learned nothing else in Seheron, it was that acting was always preferable to telling.

She'd been agitated the entire walk to the room, practically stomped her way up the several flights of stairs, mentally cataloging all the ways that she would like to curse Enrich for putting her in this position (she'd even wondered if Wynne might be game for such an activity). For certain, he knew her well enough by now to know that she couldn't just blithely turn down Ferelden when it was in need.

Otherwise, what would the point of saving it at all in the first place have been?

But by the time she'd gotten to the heavy door of her chamber, most of the fight had burned out of her, and all she wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Of course, Zevran wasn't wearing a shirt to bed, and something about how the moonlight was filtering in and creating jagged lights and shadows across his chest had made her snap, in a completely unexpected way.

In a completely delectable and earthshaking way.

Sadly, morning had come along, like it was want to do, and with it a whole slew of doubts. Could she handle this? Could they? Adaia adored Zevran. She'd be heartbroken if he left... and Kallian, Kallian didn't wish to lose him either.

Sex complicated things. She'd figured that out long ago (Adaia was proof enough). And wouldn't it be better to have him in their lives as a platonic companion, and not have to worry about his interest in her waning, and him wandering off seeking entertainment elsewhere? She knew what his predilections were. Accepted them, even. For the most part. But she also knew that she wasn't built that way. That she couldn't handle him leaving her bed for another's, or coming to her fresh from someone else's.

She'd never wanted to tie him down. He had spent so long bound by people, that she hadn't freedom for him more than anything else. Was asking him to commit to something with her any different.

And sas it worth the risk? To both her heart, and to Adaia?

Her head was spinning, and the walk that she had thought would help clear her thoughts had done exactly the opposite. So she'd found herself back in the meeting room, staring at the tapestries that hung on the walls. Letting her mind wander into the golden threads that wove together to depict a dragon's breath glancing off from a Warden's shield.

Would a tapestry of her battle against the Archdemon grace this place eventually? The thought gave her a surprising rise of pleasure. She did her best to tamp down on it, however. She could practically hear Sten admonishing her in her head: "_What good is art that tells tales of events long passed? It is enough that they happened in the first place."_

The air was thick in her throat. Oh, how she needed Sten now. Her rock. He'd have absolutely nothing positive to say about her indecisive actions. But the words that he would chose to say would inevitably have been exactly the ones she needed to hear.

Why did she ever leave Seheron? Her life would be so much easier if she had just told the Wardens to bugger off.

~~~\/~~~

She remained in the meeting room until well after breakfast had come and gone. Her stomach had long since given up the fight for food, since it had determined that she wasn't going to move from her spot on the floor.

She'd done her best to try and meditate, tried to find that center that she had heard spoken of, but it was a useless task. She would never be able to slow down her racing thoughts long enough for it to serve any meaningful purpose.

At the very least, it allowed her the benefit of being both fully awake and aware (an unusual combination for her in the morning) when Enrich, Hensley, and Fiona walked through the door. Their eyes overly large and round in their heads, and jaws slightly slacked with surprise. Really, was it so unusual for her to come here unbidden? It took Kallian less than five seconds to determine that yes, yes it was.

Of course, it was Enrich who recovered the use of his voice first. Typical.

"Tabris – this is...unexpected. I seem to recall you demanding time so that you could 'deliberate in peace and quiet' regarding your decision."

"I did."

"I take it that your presence here means that you have?"

This was it. Now or never. She sucked in a breath, the cool morning air that was circulating around the room felt good in her lungs. She hoped that Zevran would forgive her. "I have, but there are some conditions that I would like met first."

For the first time since she arrived in Weisshaupt, as she began to outline her requests, she felt like she was standing on even ground. It was a decidedly nice feeling.

~TBC


	13. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **In this bit:** Our little almost-family's last days at Weisshaupt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spoilers:** Through end game. References to a character/plot from "The Calling", and hints at "Dragon Age: Awakening" (though no real overt spoilers for either).  
> **Author's Note:** *head desk* This? This was the chapter that did not want to be written. It gave me one hell of a time folks, hence the massive delay in posting. For that, I apologize. As a result, it's also the chapter I have been least sure of while working on this fic. *bites nails* Many oodles of thanks to **pennydreadful** for the beta. Without her help, this chapter would be a complete disaster.

**Weisshaupt: Twenty-four Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

Kallian couldn't be certain, but she thought that maybe, just this once, she had managed to luck out beyond all hope and expectation.

The Wardens were dropping their incessant questioning of her. They were prepared to leave her and her child be, despite their obvious misgivings. (She highly suspected that much of that was due to Fiona's influence, who seemed much more inclined to understand Kallian's position as a mother, than anyone else.) They were willing to allow her to walk away from the order, if she so chose, once her assignment was complete. They were willing to have letters sent on her behalf to whomever she wished to help organize her affairs should the worst come to pass. They were going to give her a compliment of Wardens, of mostly her own choosing, to take with her to the Keep. And they were willing to pay for the safe passage of both Adaia and Zevran to a location of her choosing.

And Enrich had been practically smiling while he agreed to it all. It had been rather unnerving.

It was as if she had stumbled upon a large chest of gold, with the lock broken, and a note indicating that the contents were free for the taking. Sten would be sorely disappointed in how quickly she had pounced on the deal. He would have admonished her for her foolhardy acceptance of an obviously suspect set of promises.

_'I have never known you to be an idiot before, Kadan. Perhaps I have been mistaken.'_

She wished that he was here, and not back in Seheron. Perhaps hearing such words from his lips as opposed to in her mind would do her some good. There was nothing to be done for it though. She could only hope that the Wardens were as desperate for a new Commander to be in place at the Keep as they claimed. She really had no other choice.

Of course, there was one little, tiny thing that she needed to do before any packing could commence, and any Andraste-forsaken horses saddled. Namely, convincing Zevran to go along with the plan. And _Maker's breath_, but he was being unreasonable!

She tried to keep her voice even in the vain hope of keeping their conversation at least somewhat private; a hard task to accomplish out in the courtyard as they were, with training sessions going on all around them. "I – she won't be safe in Amaranthine. Please, Zevran. Do this for me."

"Ahhh – to hear such a delectable elf such as yourself beg something of me…there was a time when I would have given all of the leather in Antiva to hear you do so."

"Ugh!" She threw her hands in the air. "This is not a joke, Zevran!" There went any attempt to keep nosy eyes from looking their way, but Kallian didn't really give a damn anymore. Still, she managed to avoid stomping her feet like a child, which she counted as a small victory.

"Hmm, are you quite certain? I for one find the idea of you abandoning our daughter to rejoin the Wardens highly entertaining."

Kallian clenched her jaw, and fought the urge to scream. "I am **not** abandoning her. You are _her father_. I am simply asking you to care for her, for a short while. It's not like I won't be coming back." She had to. She couldn't even begin to entertain the alternative.

"Ahh, I must have misunderstood. Here, I thought you were asking me to watch after her while you joined a highly dangerous mission that could quite possibly lead to your death. I suppose that you only plan to engage the darkspawn in diplomatic discussions, hmm?"

"Could you just drop the sarcasm for one minute, and discuss this with me rationally please?"

Kallian was often amazed by the sheer cruelty that Zevran could infuse a laugh with. It sent chills up her spine. "Rationally? What an interesting suggestion. For certain, if you understood the concept, you would have turned down this fool mission, and we'd be taking our leave of this place and the Wardens." His hands were balled into tight fists, eyes flashing with something more than just anger. What it was though, Kallian was at a loss to identify. "They will be the death of you, Warden."

"Yes, they will, Zevran. One day. I've been damned to that fate since I first took the joining." The words hung heavy in the air between them. A thick fog that neither seemed capable of penetrating just yet.

Kallian leaned heavily on the fence post in front her, mirroring Zevran's posture, and together, they watched Adaia scurry to and fro between Theodore's legs out in the training yard. (The over-sized human was patient with Adaia, and seemed to enjoy the little girl's antics, even if they did include the child flinging her mud-covered self at his unsuspecting person on a semi-regular basis. Better still, was the fact that he seemed not to care what anyone else had to say on the matter.)

"I wish that I could just toss all sense of responsibility and duty out." Uncaring of their visibility to those around them, she reached down and circled one hand around Zevran's wrist, slowly stroking down to his hand, and attempting to pry open the digits. He allowed her to, only marginally. It was the first time she had touched him since she'd fled from his bed that morning, and it sent tingles up her arm. "But I _can't_. Not anymore. I've done that for far too long already, and it's eating away at me.

"The Qun – the Qun talks of struggle, and the uselessness of it. How one should know their purpose, and accept it. Or at least, I think that it does." She let a self-deprecating laugh escape her, "I was rather bad at interpreting it, you know. 'Just a dense, elf.' That's what the philosophers would say. If you thought Sten was frustrated with us back at camp, those qunari gave new meaning to the word. But I think…I think that I get it now. At least, a bit of it."

He held his entire body still, but even so, she could feel it vibrating with tension. Her hand continued to hold onto his, but he didn't return the gesture. "You speak so easily of duty, Warden. So what of your duty to Adaia?" There were other words, left unspoken in the air, but he didn't give them voice, and she didn't call him out on them.

She stroked her thumb over his. Once. Twice. Little round paths. She took comfort out of the small twitch his skin gave in response. "It is precisely _for_ Adaia that I am doing this. She deserves to grow up in a world not torn apart by a blight, Zevran." As she spoke, she left the path of her eyes trail away from Zevran's stiff posture, to the sight of their little girl, who was currently ducking behind a bucket – giggling whenever Theodore would walk past. The parts of her hair that were not caked in mud glimmered gold in the mid-day sun.

Zevran's voice broke the happy trance watching Adaia had created. "Oh, so now it _is_ a blight, hmm, Warden? Earlier I believe you were insisting that it wasn't. Perhaps you would like to get your own story straight before we continue with this…discussion?" There was so much venom in the last word, that it was nearly spat out.

Kallian sighed, wishing that she could return to a time when the worst thing she had to deal with was the worry about whether or not her father would actually force her to marry a total stranger. Those were such uncomplicated days. "The Warden's don't seem to think so. There has been no evidence that another Archdemon has risen. But, they have no explanation for the resurgence of the darkspawn either. We should have received several more years of peace and quiet, at the bare minimum."

The amber of his eyes was shuttered behind narrowed lids. "So then a blight _is_ likely?"

"I think that it is a possibility. It is also a possibility that something else is causing the darkspawn to surface. And I..." She sucked in a deep breath, warding off the nausea that threatened to overtake her. "I have to accept that my own actions could partly be responsible."

"Ahh, now we get to the meat of it! You are feeling, what? Guilt?" He pulled his hand from hers, and stepped away. She tried not to feel bereft at its loss, and gripped the post in front of her with both hands. "You believe that Morrigan-"

She turned away from the yards and her giggling child (who was now having some sort of tug-of-war with their mabari over the bucket), to face him directly. "Shh! Please, don't – the less we discuss of her, the better."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I have never known you to be superstitious, Warden."

"It is not superstition, merely...paranoia. The Wardens' have proven to not be above spying. I don't trust so much as a blade of grass in this place."

"Mmm, upon that we agree."

She eyed him carefully, hoping he could discern her own turbulent emotions better than she could herself, like he often had in the past. "I think that we agree more often than we realize, Zevran." She sighed, "But, I must at least acknowledge the possibility that my…pact with _her…_ could be at fault here." She swiped at an errant lock of hair, teased down from her perpetual bun by the wind. "It was the right decision. I'm sure of that. But there is much that I'm not certain of, especially given her disappearance."

His gaze, intense as the sun, remained on her for several moments before turning away. The hand that she had previously held found its way into a pocket. She watched the muscles of his forearm flex, as though his hand had bunched into a fist within the cloth confines. A habit of his that she had only picked up during the voyage from Seheron.

"Why do you do that? Stick your hand in your pocket like you're afraid you're about to lose all your coin?" His back stiffened, and he removed his hand quickly, fingers relaxed, and palm empty.

His eyes stayed focus on Adaia, but his voice was distant when he spoke. "You would do well, if you are going to the Keep, to have someone skilled with poisons in the group. Declan would be an obvious choice. I had occasion to discuss some of the…finer techniques of my craft with him over these past weeks. He is far too clumsy to make a decent assassin, but he is quite knowledgeable in his own way." He turned back to her, considering; his heated gaze sweeping over her from toe to head. "And he also pushes your buttons splendidly if I recall – and in my experience it is always good to have one such as that along."

Irritated, and somewhat flushed from his appraisal, she crossed her arms and leaned back against the post. "You're changing the subject."

This time he mirrored her posture, and held up a finger in an old-school–marm gesture that looked entirely ridiculous. "Ahh-ahh-ahh my dear Warden. I do believe that _we _were discussing this foolish plan of yours, which is precisely what I was continuing to do. You have Wardens to select after all. You were the one attempting to redirect its course. I am a master of distraction, mia cara, do not think I am unaware when the tactic is being employed upon me."

Her cheeks grew warm at the admonishment. "I hadn't meant anything by it, was just curious. And…" The warmth that was in her cheeks spread down her neck, but she pressed on. "Last I saw, there was nothing but lint in your pockets." She pulled her lower lip in by her teeth, gnawing at the overly dry skin.

His head titled as he continued to observe her in a fashion that made her feel utterly exposed. A moment later, a full-throated laugh broke free of his chest, splitting the tension in the air as easily as one of his knives could cut skin. Before she even had time to register it, he had closed the distance between them, the warm pad of his thumb tracing her lower lip, and pulling it free from her teeth with a small 'pop'. Her whole body shivered in response to the heat of him.

His voice lowered in tone, and depth, to that huskier register that unerringly sent waves of want through to her center. "Are you aware that you abuse this poor, unsuspecting lip? I believe that the treatment which it has received is unmatched in cruelty throughout all of Thedas."

"Wha-?" She couldn't form sentences. Couldn't form words. Her whole body was gravitating towards him, leaning ever-so-slightly forward, hoping – wanting – _needing _to close the gap between them. If only for a minute…

But, then he dropped his hand, and stepped away, lengthening the distance between them by three footfalls; understanding blossomed in her chest before he spoke. Master of distraction indeed. "Now, back to the matter at hand, Kallian."

She swallowed a desperate lump of air at the sound of her given name on his lips, and nodded. The sudden need to reclaim the footing which he had so easily stolen from under her was piercing in its intensity, but she stamped it down in favor of being humble. "Please, Zevran. You say you like to hear me beg? Well this is me – begging. Please do this for me. I think we both know that Antiva would be a less than ideal place for the both of you right now. Returning to Seheron…it's the only…" She took a breath. Why was this so difficult to explain? "It's the most logical choice. And it is not as bad as you may think. Sten-"

The look he bestowed upon her would have made a lesser person tuck tail and run. "No."

Disappointment swirled in her heart, only to be quickly snuffed out by irritation. "No?"

"That is what I said, yes."

"No? And why not? You are honestly refusing to care for Adaia while I am gone? What would you have me do? Would you prefer that I shuck her off on a stranger? Or leave her here? I know that Theodore is quite fond of her, perhaps he would like the job." She shook her head, trying to dispel the thought – he couldn't walk away so easily, could he? This had to be something else. "If this is about us - do not take your annoyance with me out on her, Zevran. She deserves better than that!"

He laughed, low and brittle, the sound sent wisps of cold through her. "Truly, whether or not you deign to remain in my bed after sunup is entirely your decision to make, Warden, and has absolutely no impact on my relationship with Adaia. If you still believe that I would abandon my child for any reason, then there is nothing I will be able to do to convince you otherwise."

Her stomach twisted, how did she always get things wrong? "No, of course I don't – I'm...sorry." And she was, for more than just the unwitting accusation. He nodded once, but she couldn't quite make out the emotion behind the near perfect mask covering his face. "Then what-"

"I simply mean, Warden, that when you travel, Adaia and I will be accompanying you."

"Absolutely not!"

"It is quite adorable, mia cara, how you seem to think you have some say in the matter. Either you are allowing me to care for Adaia in you absence, in which case you have no say in where it is I choose to take her, or you will have to turn down this fool position in Amaranthine. In which case, you still will not be free of me."

"I am not trying to be free of you, Zevran! Damn it." She reached up to rub her brow, hoping to keep the oncoming headache at bay. "Can't you see that it's _for_ Adaia that I have asked this of you? She won't be safe at the Keep."

His eyes fairly twinkled as he looked upon her. How could his emotions change on a hairpin like that? "Then it is just as well that I have no intention of taking her to the Keep."

She sputtered. She'd been doing that a lot lately. "But, but you said-"

He waggled a finger at her; a sudden reappearance of that unending supply of charm he possessed taking over. Though the gesture still looked ridiculous to Kallian. "I said that we would be traveling with you, I never once said that we would be going to the Keep with you." He made a clucking sound with his tongue. "Denerim is but a short distance from Amaranthine – especially when we have four legs to carry us there. If this is not truly a blight, than we should be quite safe within those walls."

She blinked. Why hadn't she considered that? The only place that it had occurred to her to send Adaia had been back home. To Seheron. And Sten. _When exactly did Denerim stop being home?_ Now that she thought on it, the idea began to grow on her. Having her daughter so near, yet safe. The chance for her to meet her grandfather, and cousins…it held quite a bit of appeal. "I suppose that would be acceptable."

He clapped his hands together, "Good! There is a certain Monarch that whose expression I'd quite like to see when we arrive on his doorstep. Perhaps it will ease the blow if I stop and pick him up a buxom beauty or two, as I am sure he has grown frustrated these long months with only Anora to entertain him."

"_Zevran._"

He pouted. The expression did something to her insides that was both unexpected and delightful. "Aww, you would deny me the pleasure of riling up our dear former Templar, then? Hmm? Pity. Fine, I promise to be on my best behavior." He made a crossing motion over his heart, and put on the most innocent expression she'd ever seen him wear. It appeared that Adaia was rubbing off on him as much as he was on her.

The brushed the stray hair back behind her ear once more, annoyed with its persistent presence in her eyes. "That really isn't saying very much, Zevran. All right. The two of you may travel south with me. When we reach the crossroads, you will head to Denerim with Adaia." If her heart had skipped a beat at the realization that she would be traveling with him, for months on end, she would never admit it.

He gave her a smile; one that she'd only ever been witness to a half-dozen times, and that feeling of lightness within her became even more pronounced. "We've become thick as thieves – the respectable kind mind you, not the scoundrels that plague the highways – but I don't know that she would be as comfortable if you were gone entirely."

Kallian shook her head. "No. I suspect not. Although, she has done surprisingly well with Sten's absence these past weeks."

And it was true, she had. There had been some grumblings initially (okay – maybe those were more like all out screaming sob-fests that lasted from the second to fourth days on the boat), and once or twice on the road she'd woken with a fright and cried for the qunari, and those had been…difficult situations to deal with. But she'd gotten attached to Zev so fast, that as far as Kallian could tell, she was happy as long he was around.

Zevran gave her a wide, beaming smile. "That is only because I am highly skilled at distraction. Did you know that there are three separate 'hidden' passageways between our chamber and the hound pens? Adaia managed to find two of them entirely on her own."

"I'm hardly surprised. She _is _your daughter after all." She paused, considering her next words – not wanting to broach the topic, but seeing no other choice. "What you said earlier – about my running from your bed before sunrise?" She kept her eyes focused on Adaia and the mabari out in the courtyard, not quite ready to look Zevran in the eye. "You're right, obviously – I'm, not certain that two times quite makes a habit, but it certainly is the start of a bad pattern. And I never meant for it to be. I've been…indecisive, and that needs to change." She sucked in one steady, breath, and turned back to him, only to find him watching her, a look of confusion on his face. The look was gone almost as soon as she noticed it, however.

"She will of course keep the hound." His statement was jarring in its subject jump, but it had the intended effect of bringing her back to the present, and the vision of their daughter barreling towards them, a war hound at her heels with a bucket in his jaws.

"Of course. Who else is going to go jumping in mud puddles with her?" At Zevran's light laugh, Kallian felt a heaviness that she had not even known was weighing on her, suddenly lift.

Kallian felt a clawing at her britches, the result of the most mud-covered little elf that she had ever seen. "Mama! Mama, Mama! Up!" Laughing, she swung the child up into her arms, letting her settle onto her hip; uncaring that she was now as coated in mud as the little girl.

She would be without her all too soon, and she wanted to savor every moment now, just in case.

Zevran's voice, when he spoke, was much closer than she had expected, so much so that the nearness of it made her jump. "When do the Wardens wish for you to depart from this lovely fortress of theirs?" He reached up, and tucked the damnable lock of hair behind her ear, his warm fingers lingering for a moment at the nape of her neck. Kallian was thankful for the distance that their daughter put between them.

"The Wardens wish me to leave for the Keep before sunup the day after tomorrow."

"And you are to pick a contingent of Wardens to accompany you before then, yes?"

"I've been allotted the use of three. Why? Do you have any suggestions?" Kallian wrinkled her nose. "_Aside_ from Declan."

Zevran's hand skated down past her elbow, before alighting on her hip momentarily. "Several come to mind, but first, Warden, I think we have a small matter to deal with." He brought his hand back into view, wiggling mud-streaked digits at her in time with his wiggling brow. "A bath appears to be in order."

Kallian didn't think that it was fair that the way that Zevran's voice dropped, and that the way his eyes lingered on portions of her body distinctly south of her neck, had the ability to render her nearly speechless anymore. She remembered a time when she was entirely immune to his charms with some longing.

Adaia, Maker bless her, chose that moment to twist around in Kallian's arms, and grapple onto Zevran, giving him large mud-covered kisses all over his head. Kallian did her best to contain her laughter at Zevran's affronted, yet affectionate, face as Adaia settled into his arms.

Channeling him, she waggled both eyebrows, and was rewarded with her daughter's giggle. "Now about that bath…"

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Since becoming acquainted with his daughter, Zevran had become quite adept at getting the squirming child to sit (relatively) still for meals. It was a measure of the point that his life had reached that he considered it one of his more impressive victories.

It was during one such successful mission within the mess hall before their departure from the fortress, that the Warden mage, Fiona, decided to settle herself at their table and attempt conversation. (Kallian was still nowhere in sight – off in talks with Enrich supposedly.) Adaia paused for only a moment in her eating to observe the new arrival, but seemed to dismiss her just as easily, opening her mouth for another spoonful of food.

The mage did not speak for several moments. Instead, she seemed content to watch as Zevran continued to feed Adaia, which was fine by him. He was still mulling over his talk with Kallian earlier that day; wondering about her actions towards him – the hand holding, the apologies, the flirting and teasing about baths (to his disappointment, she did not let him join, much to his continued frustration) – so at odds with the fact that she seemed incapable of remaining near him for long, once the sun rose.

At first, he'd been so certain that she was asking him to take Adaia, not for Adaia's sake, but for her own. That she was so desperate to be rid of him, that she was willing to send her daughter away from her for a time as well. Then he had begun to realize that no, she was not nearly so self-centered. Rather, she was just unbelievably foolish, and had actually fallen in with the manipulative actions of those thrice-damned Warden (including the one sitting across from him at the moment), and genuinely wanted to thwart whatever darkspawn threat had fallen upon Ferelden these past months.

Ever the hero. He hated that a part of him loved that about her.

It was a strange thing, really, that he was continued to be confused by Kallian's conflicting actions. He'd known her long enough to be able to predict how she would react at any given time, even if she never seemed to know herself. It was part of the reason he had chosen not to pursue her, rather letting her come to him.

He could have guessed that she'd run away one minute, and be plying him with soft words and even softer hands the next. And he'd meant what he'd said before, that whether or not she stayed in his bed was entirely her choice to make. But that didn't change the fact that he knew what he wanted her choice to be. Nor did it change the fact that he was not as wary of that knowledge as perhaps he should have been. She possessed a hold on him that was unlike any other, and he never wanted her to relinquish her claim.

It should have been a much more frightening thought than it was.

Eventually, the Warden across from him broke his silent contemplation; which was fine by him, as he could use a distraction. "Evening, Zevran Arainai."

Zevran flashed the mage his widest grin at the greeting. "So formal, Warden? After all of the times that you have so successfully blocked my attempts at interrupting your little interrogation sessions, and at getting you to join us in bed, I would think that we had at least graduated to first names."

That same, self-satisfied smirk that Zevran had often seen directed his way from the mage lit her face once again. "And yet, you continue to still address me as 'Warden' which belies your own supposed feelings of familiarity."

"An excellent point. So then, lovely Fiona, is there a reason that you have chosen to grace us with your presence this evening? Have you perhaps rethought my earlier offers, on account of our eminent departure from la fortezza? I can assure you, that you will no regret it if you have."

She scoffed, but there was a slight lift to her lips that Zevran found most gratifying. "Hardly. And does Kallian know that you so freely invite others to join you at night? Or do you just plan on bringing a new arrival to your bed, and hope that she doesn't notice?"

Zevran laughed loudly, the sound coaxing Adaia to clap and giggle in time with him. "Oh, I am certain that she does – and despite what you might think of me, I am not so callous as to spring such a thing on someone unsuspecting. There is a certain…finesse required for such activities to be successful. But, I am getting away from myself. If your intention is not to allow us to do unspeakable, yet delightful, things to you, then why are you here?" Zevran had hoped to at least earn a flush from her, but was so far unsuccessful. A pity.

She settled back in the chair, her hands out and crossed on the tabletop in front of her, looking more prim and proper than anyone should outside of a war meeting. "I was interested in learning what your opinion is of the task at hand." Her eyes strayed once towards Adaia, before landing back upon him.

Zevran did not pause his hand's movement as he fed the next spoonful of mushed vegetation into his daughter's open mouth. "I think that she would prefer to hold the spoon herself, but I prefer not wearing the remnants of the meal. It's a constant struggle." Proving his point, Adaia snatched at the utensil, only to have Zevran pull it just out of her reach, eliciting a series of small giggles. The fond look on Fiona's face did not go unnoticed by Zevran as he turned back towards her. "Or were you referring to some...other matter?"

Fiona seemed to snap out of the child-induced haze, and focused on Zevran once more. "I believe you know to what I am referring."

"Ahh, so you are wondering about my opinion on the matter of you sending Kallian off to replace the Orlesian Commander who let a few talking darkspawn get the best of him, correct?"

The Warden blinked, but otherwise showed no emotion at his statement. "Yes."

"Are you curious about my personal or tactical feelings on the matter?"

The Warden seemed to consider this for several moments, before making an off-hand gesture. "Why not both?"

Zevran let his lips pull in a small, unkind smile. "Another excellent point! You are quite good at this! Why not, indeed? Personally, I would have rather you tasked anyone aside from her – she has given much for your order. I do not feel she owes you anymore. And selfishly, I would like to keep the mother of my child out of the claws of darkspawn. Tactically, however, I cannot think of anyone else that would be able to accomplish the job. She has both skills, and a background, that make her uniquely suited to the task."

Zevran fed another spoonful to Adaia, taking a moment to wipe away fallen bits from her chin, while the Warden processed his words, seeming to be unaware that her gaze was focused entirely on the child "Is that why you have agreed to her request? Because it was sound judgment on our part"

It amazed him how very controlled every statement she made seemed to be. And also, how highly leading. Is this how the questioning sessions with Kallian always went? He had the suspicion that it must have been. In which case, many of his own questions regarding Kallian's decision were beginning to be answered.

"Kallian's vantage point is...skewed. I have seen few people who can so effortlessly charm others into doing their bidding such as her, but the art of true manipulation? That is something that she does not possess. And it is something she often misses in others. Just because she hasn't noticed the way that you and the other Wardens have been pulling at her strings, does not mean that I have."

A heavy breath, and then again she spoke, so controlled. It was impressive. He wondered what it would take to make that control slip. Though, as she continued to watch Adaia, he suspected he knew the answer. "You think that we are manipulating her?"

Adaia grabbed at the spoon, taking issue with Zevran's long delays between refilling it, and brought it to her mouth. "Think? No. I am certain." He paused, scraping out the remains of the bowl onto the spoon, and feeding it to Adaia. Once done, he fished out some dry cereal from a pouch and dropped them into the bowl, handing it back to the child, who happily began munching, no longer in need of Zevran's assistance.

"You are very sure of yourself."

He turned to Fiona, and met her cool eyes with his own. "You wish for me to confess how it is that I have been able to see through your poorly veiled plots? Seems rather obvious to me, but, I will humor you, if you wish." He leaned back in his chair, and settled his hands behind his head. Watching, with not a small amount of delight, as she shifted almost imperceptibly in her seat.

"Your..._attempts_, at questioning her? They have been fruitless, unending circles of interrogation, designed entirely to frustrate, and with little to no hope of achieving any kind of useful result. Perhaps the first few sessions provided you with information that you did not already have, but the rest? These were intended to fray her nerves. To make her worry about what your true intentions were. The implication that you would go after Adaia if anything Kallian said could not be verified? It was all deliberately arranged to keep her on edge so that she would jump on any guarantee that it would stop."

The quick breath of air that the Warden sucked in would have gone unnoticed by many, but not by Zevran. "And for what purpose do you believe that we did this?"

He let a slow, predatory smile grace his face; eyes narrowed just enough to showcase his thoughts on the matter. "If you do not wish to skirt the issue, then neither will I. You have been using her since the very beginning. Your intentions have always been to place her back in your service, and under your command at the Keep. Having the Hero of Ferelden doing your bidding at Amaranthine has a much greater chance of success then having a foreigner attempting the same. You want to secure the Wardens' hold in Ferelden, and what better way to do that then through the Arling?

"And you wanted to make certain that she would take the position willingly. Playing upon her guilt, and her fears, was the best way to do so. As was making promises you know you will never need to uphold, as there is little chance that the Keep will ever be stable enough for Kallian to abandon, even after the darkspawn are dealt with. Is there?"

To the Warden's credit, she had managed to school her facial features into an emotionless mask once more, doing a commendable job of giving nothing away, aside from her regular and somewhat wistful looks at Adaia. "If you are so certain, then why are you telling me this, and not her? And why have you agreed to assist her by taking on the burden of caring for your child alone? You could have refused."

"Refused?" The fact that the Warden seemed to believe that she could play Zevran as easily as she had managed Kallian was the deciding factor in Zevran's next move. If she wished to manipulate others, she would do well to learn how it felt herself. He waited a beat, until the Warden's gaze was entirely focused on his child once more, before speaking. "Tell me, Warden – was giving up your child a relief, or did you feel some emotion upon doing so?"

Those cool eyes of hers blinked rapidly at him. The muscles in her jaw slackening just enough for the look of surprise on her face to be readable to anyone who walked passed. "Wha-what?"

Zevran leaned over Adaia again, deliberately making a show of cleaning up the mess that she had made with her cereal as he spoke. "Were you happy, to finally have the mewling bundle away from you, where you would no longer have to listen to its endless cries for food and attention? How long, I wonder, did you wait before tossing the babe out with the trash? Did you allow it to sup from you for a full moon, or were you unwilling to give it even that much?"

Zevran could feel the low-boiling rage seething from Fiona when she spoke. "How dare you."

He arched an eyebrow. "It is a simple enough query, Warden. Did you feel any love for your child, or was all of your affection – your duty – to the Wardens and the Wardens alone?"

There was a fire in Fiona's eyes, finally. "You have no right to speak of such things to me." The energy that was beginning to crackle around the mage did not go unnoticed by others in the hall, but Zevran paid it no mind.

"Do I not? Now, why is it that you can ask the mother of my child any and all questions that you wish? That you can grill her endlessly for days about whatever topic strikes your fancy? That you can send her off to do your dirty work, while you sit here, safe as can be within these walls, _knowing _full well that she may not survive. That my child may be left as motherless as yours was, after you abandoned it."

"I did not abandon my child!" All noise and clatter in the mess hall stopped quite abruptly. Even Adaia, who had likely picked up on the tension, had shushed her activities for a minute. That blush that Zevran had hoped to achieve earlier, finally found its way into Fiona's cheeks as she realized just exactly where she was.

He cocked his head. "No? My apologies. Is he, or she, here then? Did you raise the babe amongst the Wardens? Did it grow to be one as well?"

Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be chanting something under her breath. He waited, feeling no rush. "My son was raised elsewhere – he, he never knew of me. But – I did not abandon him. He would not have been safe, raised by me. So he was…given to someone who could care for him in the way that I never could. He has lived a good life."

"As far as you know."

"What?"

The look of absolute confusion on her face brought out a small wave of pity in Zevran, something he never would have felt before. Knowing Adaia had done strange things to him. "You gave him up, so any stories you have heard of him, are just that: stories. You have no way of knowing what his life was truly like, because you weren't involved." He let his gaze linger on her newly ashen face for a few moments before pushing back from the table to stand, and gathering Adaia into his arms (who immediately began to undo the braid in his hair). "Now, I must be off. Adaia does so enjoy her after-dinner naps, and I would hate to deprive her one of the last ones she will have in an actual bed for quite some time."

Zevran clicked his heels together, and bowed his head slightly, before turning to walk away. The Warden's subdued voice drew his attention back to the table, however. "How – how did you know? About my son?"

He paused, considering. "I didn't. Not for sure." Of course he had long suspected, and even had some suspicion as to who that child may have been – not that he would ever breathe a word of it, of course. It was not the sort of the thing you accuse lightly, after all. "Anyone with eyes could see the way that you look upon Adaia. It was not a difficult leap to make." He placed a kiss on his daughter's head, enjoying her beaming smile in return.

The expression on the Warden's face as she watched them could only be described as forlorn. He didn't care for the range of emotions it brought out in him in the slightest. Absentmindedly, Zevran's free hand found its way into his pocket, fingering the small object encased within its depths as Adaia tucked her head beneath his chin. The small bauble rolled back and forth smoothly between his fingers. He had thought about gifting it to Kallian, on so many occasions, but something always held him back. And when she had brought it up, well, he was loathe to discuss it with her until he was certain that they both wanted the same thing.

A tug on his hair brought him back to himself, and he released the object back into the depths of his pocket once more, this time in favor of running his free hand through Adaia's hair. She was quickly fading, if her yawn was anything to go by. She always slept like a rock after meals. And that combined with the sudden urge to find Kallian and coax a _favorable_ decision out of her by any means necessary, was impossible to ignore. With one last nod in Fiona's direction, he left the mage alone with her thoughts, and carved his way out of the mess hall.

* * *

_Last chapter coming soon folks! Promise!_


	14. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Wow. Okay folks. This is ALMOST it. There's an epilogue coming up after this part, though. (I know, I know, this chapter should have been the last, but then again, at one point I thought this entire story would only be eight chapters long. See how wrong I was? My apologies for the delay (again), I thought it'd be done earlier, but my muse had other ideas. Crazy-love and thanks to pennydreadful for the beta, who has made this chapter (and this whole story) ten times better than it would be otherwise.

**The Silent Plains: Twenty-five Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

Kallian's heart was beating against her ribs as she twisted away from her attacker, a hornless _Tal'Vashoth_; one of many in the band of highwaymen that had chosen to attack their group. The adrenaline threading through her veins helped to clear her senses, speeding her reflexes just enough to allow her to swing _Keening _out in an arc across the honor-less bastard's knees, knocking him to the ground with a resounding thud.

A moment later she was panting over his lifeless body as she pulled her off-hand blade from his chest; her left arm hung loosely at her side, the result of her shoulder having slipped from its place. Teeth embedded in her bottom lip, she wrenched it back into place with an all-too familiar sensation of pain. The wind blowing behind her carried the scent of dirt and blood. Without a thought, she thrust her blade backward, catching the human bandit off-guard in the stomach; his sword swung out wildly to block, but failed to do more than graze her shoulder. His body tumbled towards the ground, taking her, and her blade, with him.

Barely a breath of time passed before a shadow fell across her exposed back, highlighted by the noonday sun. With senses that neither time nor distance could dim, she knew that there was no chance for her to counter the blow from her off-balanced position. Her voice echoed across the clearing, "Shield!" She turned her head, and watched as the shadow moved, an oversized axe swinging up overhead, and the qunari wielding it coming into clear view, her sword-arm remaining stubbornly locked beneath the fallen body of the human she'd just killed. She yelled again then, louder, "SHIELD!"

For a split-second, her breath caught in her throat as she remembered that she was no longer fighting beside Alistair and his superb (though occasionally predictable) reflexes; and she feared that her call would be in vain. But as quickly as the doubt filled her mind, it was washed away with the slide of Declan's body across her line of vision, shield raised high, and head ducked down low - the loud clang of metal on metal ringing in her ears.

From beneath his shield, he met her gaze with a bright one of his own, mouth curling with that insufferable smile of his. "You bellowed, Commander?" Not waiting for her response, he pressed forward with the shield, running his opponent over with the weight behind the move, and following through with a sword to the gut.

She tipped her head to the side as she watched the maneuver. Maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea bringing him along. Sure, she had seen him in the training yards at the fortress, but she knew from experience that the differences between training and real battle were immense. Maybe he could be useful for more than just irritating her. "Not bad."

Smirk still in place, he bowed his head quickly. "Anything to save a damsel in distress."  
He barked out a deep laugh at the warning glare she tossed him, not at all intimidated. She took it back. No amount of shield skills could cancel out how annoying he was; and that was that.

The sudden quiet around her finally penetrated her brain, and she twirled quickly on the spot, her eyes seeking out Zevran's form. She found him several feet away, his back to her as he stood over the body of one of the highwaymen; the length of his unsheathed blades glinting in the bright sun, looking as much a part of him as his own flesh.

She probably shouldn't have found the image of him as beautiful as she did, but it couldn't be helped. She swallowed as she watched him stretch out kinks from the fight, and then slid his blades into the straps crossed on his back.

A tap to her chin with a gauntlet clad hand brought her back to attention. She turned a scowl towards Declan, whose eyes were near to twinkling at her. "Best close your mouth, Commander, or you're liable to swallow flies."

_Arrgh. _She clenched her fists at her sides, and took a deep breathe to calm herself; ready to lay into him about respect and annoyance and obedience and all the other things that a good little Warden should be aware of. (Not that she had any room to talk.) But by the time she managed to open her mouth, he was already half-way across the field, helping Theodore and the remaining Warden in their party loot the felled bandits of any useful supplies. She took it _all_ back. He was the single most annoying person that she had ever met.

Finally, her feet seemed to unroot themselves from the ground and she made her way to Zevran at a jog. Eyes darted to the rocky area beyond the highway, a kernel of unease tightening in her belly. Her breathing came heavily. "Adaia?"

Zevran turned to her, his head tilted in the direction of the outcroppings past the road. She watched his features smooth as he looked at her, the affect of the sun glinting off his hair was remarkable - made him look boyish, innocent. "With the hound, as usual. She's safe."

The tension unraveled within her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She nodded before breaking off in a run towards the rocks, calling for the hound and her wayward child.

Traveling on horseback with a toddler, a mabari, and Declan in tow was possibly the single most frustrating event that Kallian had ever experienced. It never seemed to matter which horse Adaia was saddled on, she always wanted to be swapped over to someone else's. The toddler had even tried to saddle the poor hound and ride the beast alongside the group.

Kallian had finally let her have her way after the third attempt, when the pair had tumbled off the path and into a nearby stream. It was just easier to confine the sludge that way. The little girl was light enough to barely register with the mabari, despite her strong grip on his short fur.

And when the first sad little attempt to overrun their group came in the form of a rag-tag team of highwaymen weeks before, it turned out to have been a good decision. Kallian had no doubt that the hound would guard Adaia with his life, and they'd been able to send the two off into hiding while they'd dealt with the attackers. Kallian had found the two beside _yet another_ stream, attempting to catch fish. The mabari, of course, had marginally more success than the little girl, but not for lack of trying.

The Wardens, along with Zevran and Adaia, had been attacked twice more since then. And each time the hound had been charged with protecting the girl. The further south they moved, the braver (or idiotic) the bandits became. The group they had encountered this time had been significantly more adept at their craft, namely, thieving and bashing.

They were still piss-poor at it though.

As she scooped her giggling daughter from beneath a dry bush, a tattered doll in her clutches, and a slobbering mabari lying at her feet, Kallian couldn't help but be grateful that all they had run into so far had been surface dwellers.

She dreaded the idea of her little girl ever coming face to face with a darkspawn.  
That was why she was doing this after all: to keep her family safe.

She spied her companions picking up the last bits and baubles of interest from the fallen, and dragging the bodies off of the main road. Even from this distance, Zevran managed to catch her eye, a smile on his face for her, and a tip of an imaginary hat for their waving daughter.

Resolve solidified like stone in her soul. She'd keep them safe. All of them.

* * *

**The Free Marches: Twenty-six Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

"Shhh, little one. We're going to practice what I taught you now, okay?" Zevran pointed to the shadows eclipsing the overgrown brush from where they were crouched. His daughter nodded, eager, wrapping her tiny fingers around his hand and following him into the shadows with nary a sound. He rewarded her with a kiss to the head, and a place to sit on his bent knee. She really was still just a little thing, and growing more stable on her feet every day, but it was best if she stayed by him for now.

Zevran did his best to not fluff up with pride at the knowledge that she seemed to be thriving under his influence. Her mother might not approve of his teaching Adaia rope-work, or poison making (yet), but she could not keep him from teaching her how to move unseen. It was too integral a part of his personality, and not something that he could - or would - turn off. And, as luck would have it, it seemed that Adaia had inherited some of that natural grace from him. Now, it just needed to be honed.

The first challenge being to get her to remain in one place for longer than five minutes without distraction; they'd managed two minutes so far. It was a work in progress, but, she was still young, so there was plenty of time to work on that. Along with everything else.

It gave him a thrill to think of all the things that he could teach her over the coming years. A warm, tingling sensation that spread out all through his limbs, until he felt...happy.  
It was an intriguing feeling.

Zevran shook his head, dispelling the thoughts, and focused on their prey. Beyond the shadows, past the underbrush, and down in the vale below, stood their quarry. One, dark-haired, elven warrior and her second-in-command. Arguing - as usual. Or rather, _she_ was arguing, and _he_ was riling her up.

Zevran quite liked the man. It made for a fine change of pace, being the one that Kallian turned to for reassurance when her sanity was fraying at the edges, being just a hairsbreadth away from lashing out with both swords. There was nothing quite like the fire that would flash in her eyes, her whole body vibrating with indignation. It had been a constant source of both amusement and arousal for him when they had traveled together during the Blight. But he enjoyed it more now, when she would stalk towards him after a particularly vitriolic debate with Declan, fists clenched by her sides, only to deflate with a single touch of his hand along her spine. He liked how she would lean into him, eyes fluttered closed and breath coming in steady intakes, seeming to find some peace.

Liked how quickly he could calm that fire, knowing that once the sunset, he could (and often would) just as easily bring her back up to a boil - for entirely different reasons.  
Yes, he liked that _much _more.

In fact, he liked it so much that he would gladly have invited the other man along for a night or three, if only to experience what would certainly have been an explosive charge from the woman between them. But alas, Kallian was...resistant to that idea. Though, the last time he'd brought it up, he'd only received a snort and deliciously pink cheeks instead of the all out growls from before. A smile had bloomed on his face; he could work with that.

"Why can't you just leave it? It has nothing to do with you-" Kallian's voice tipped into that cool, near-growl that she reserved for those irritations she couldn't walk away from; Zevran was intimately familiar with the sound.

"On that, I am afraid, we have to disagree, _Commander_." The emphasis Declan placed on her new title was just this side of teasing, with only a hint of sarcasm, and Kallian bristled at its use. Zevran had to give the man credit; he was good. "Any distraction from the mission at hand _does _concern me, and all the citizens of Thedas. We need your head in this, and not floating somewhere over Denerim." Light flickered through the leaves, shining down on the man by the bank; dark hair a mess upon his head, and lips pulled down in a half-scowl; shoulders and one foot pressed against a tree, looking completely at ease. "You asked me to be your second, did you not? Do not discount my advice out of hand, simply because you don't want to hear it."

"I'm not discounting your advice, Declan. Not at all. I'm just - I don't know how to go about this sort of thing. I'm no good at it." The voice that carried so clearly across the breeze sounded resigned, tired. And it immediately peeked Zevran's interest. A slight shift in position allowed him to keep Adaia tight to his side where she sat on his lap, while still affording him a view of the proceedings some feet away.

Kallian was pacing, one hand running through her hair, roughing up the knot that held it tight to the nape of her neck. The urge to draw the tip of a feather down that exposed bit of flesh struck him, and he filed it away for later.

"Then you will speak with him?"

"And say what?"

Zevran felt Adaia digging around in his pockets, but let her be. At least she was no longer going for his knives; he had no interest in a repeat of the lecture he'd received for _that_ one. It had been a very cold and lonely three nights. He tried to focus on the conversation up ahead; it was just getting interesting after all.

"Pa-pa?"

"Hmm?"

"Wassdis?"

Zevran dragged his eyes from the scene still unfolding in front of him, and turned to his daughter's curious, upturned face. In her hands she held one solitary earring. A small thing, but it looked so large in her tiny hand. He swept the tip of his finger over it, admiring how it shone, even in the shadows. "A gift. For Mama."

Her face lit up at his response, her wide smile brightening the shadows even further. She made as if to climb from his lap, but he held her fast. "Give now?"

"Not yet, sweet. Soon though." He swept the object back into his hands, dropping it into an interior pocket, and showed the newly empty palms to his daughter with a slight flourish, she giggled, and snuggled against his side, and he took a moment to inhale her sweet scent.

The argument by the river was trailing off into more earnest discussion, the pair's voices harder to discern with every passing second, but the strain on Kallian's brow became all the more prominent for it. Doubly so when Declan made the miscalculation of laying a supportive hand on her shoulder, only to have her fling it off.

So focused was Zevran on trying to tease out the fleeting bits of words that were spoke, he nearly missed his daughter's tiny fists tugging at his collar. Zevran glanced back up to the still arguing pair by the bank, the lines of conversation hopelessly lost to him now.  
Adaia squirmed where she sat, turning wide eyes up to him. "Pa-pa?"

"Sì, mi bambina?"

"Gotta go."

Zevran arched a brow, affection filling him. "Truly? And where is it that you plan to go?"

In response, she squirmed a bit more in his lap, one little fist reaching down to tug on her pantaloons. The action brought realization to the front of his mind. "Oh. Oh! Well then - ah." He stood swiftly, bringing her to a comfortable position on his hip, and made his way back through the brush to the camp, and the area set aside as a latrine.

He had a feeling that another milestone in his life had just been reached; where spying took second place behind helping his daughter learn to not soil her pants.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

**Ostwick: Twenty-seven Months after the Fall of the Archdemon **

It had been decided, quite without Kallian's input, that their little traveling band of misfits would head down to the port town of Ostwick from Weisshaupt. And that from there, they would board two separate vessels. Those moving along to Amaranthine, with Kallian, would go on one ship, while the rest would take a boat bound for Denerim.

Between the four-legged neighing monstrosities, and the promise of the floating nausea-inducing vessels to come, Kallian was beside herself with the annoyance of this trip. At least it had the benefit of efficiency. The damnable horses had allowed them to cover much more ground than otherwise, and after the first few weeks, she found that she no longer despised riding with quite the same passion as she once had.

She still hated ships though.

They were but a half-day's journey from Ostwick when they were forced to break and set up camp. The nights were growing ever longer as winter settled in, and it was getting more difficult to cover ground. With a good deal of reluctance, they were setting up their tents for another chilly night spent on the ground, despite the promise of warm beds so close at hand.

Not that her own tent had ever been cold, Zevran had made absolutely no pretense of sleeping in his own tent at any point during their travel. And, aside from the knowing looks that Declan would shoot her way whenever he had the chance, she was grateful. She had not wanted to admit how used to Zevran she had grown during their weeks at the fortress. How calming she found his breath against her hair at night. And having him so near was worth ever smug smile she had to put up with from the Orlesian ass in their midst.

It was even worth the fairly regular arguments said ass insisted upon having with her. He'd gotten it in his head that the only way she'd be able to function as Commander and Arlessa in Amarathine was if she _confessed her feelings_ to Zevran; and had taken it on himself to force the issue as often, and in as many annoying ways, as possible.

Lately though, with her departure from both Adaia and Zevran fast creeping up, she'd begun to see his point. Though Maker only knew how she was supposed to go about something like that. It wasn't as if she had much experience in this area. The last man that she confessed feeling anything for, well, that hadn't turned out so well.

And it wasn't as though Zevran had said anything either. He seemed perfectly content with their current situation, whatever it was. He doted on Adaia, teased Theodore mercilessly, and bedded down with her at night.

It had gone on so long that she felt at ease with it all. It felt...normal. And she was loathe to do anything that might upset the balance. And that, more than anything, made her angry. She hated feeling like a coward.

If Sten were here, he'd scoff at her, and tell her that balance couldn't exist if she wasn't honest with herself, and that being brave didn't mean being fearless. Then he would sit and wait for her to figure it out. The Smith might have a few more words to say to her, and she was certain he'd make some comparison to swords and metalworking, but the end result would be the same.

Namely, to get off her rear and make a decision.

Oh, but she missed them. She made a promise to herself to send a letter Sten's way, with a note for the Smith, before they left port in the morning. In the meantime, she would just have to let go of her confusion long enough to enjoy her last night, for what could be many months, with Zevran and Adaia.

~~~\/~~~

Sleeping in the same tent with Zevran while their daughter was laying along her other side was an exercise in frustration and restraint. For that reason, most nights Zevran had continued to set up his own tent, allowing them a place to sneak off to, on the occasions when they grew...restless enough to let the mabari guard Adaia for them.

Tonight was not one of those nights, however, as Adaia had proved restless, and unwilling to sleep without the two of them near her. And, to be fair, Kallian didn't want her far from her side either, seeing as how it could be quite some time before she saw her daughter again. (She refused to acknowledge the voice in her head that warned her that this could very well be the last night she'd have with her child. There was just no way that Kallian was going to let some darkspawn come between her and her family.)

Eventually, Adaia had slipped off to sleep, snuggled down by Kallian's hips, allowing just enough room for Zevran to pull Kallian's upper body close to his, one arm wrapped underneath her shoulder, so that she could pillow her head on his; an awkward, but not unpleasant, position.

"Tell me a story." Kallian trailed her fingers in idle circles along his chest, enjoying the slight twitch of the firm muscles buried beneath his smooth skin.

The hand at her shoulder paused in its movement for a moment, a soft tickling brush of his skin against hers. "A story? Perhaps you have mistaken me for the lovely Leliana? Would you prefer it if I dyed my hair red, and sprouted a firm bosom?"

"Hardly. And don't pretend that you don't love spinning tales, I couldn't get you to shut up during the Blight."

The firm pressure of rough, callused fingertips skirting at the edge of her sleeping britches threatened to call her attention away to less innocent past-times. As did the hungry look upon Zevran's face as he took her in. "Mmm, but I was denied the much more...pleasurable alternative of ravishing you at the time. A man must find ways to distract himself, least he be run-through by angry templars in the night."

"Oh, I see. So all those lovely tales of yours, they were just told to help cool your raging libido?"

His eyebrows wiggled in unison as a lascivious smile spread across his mouth. His voice, dipped down low. "More or less."

There was a tug in her belly at that look, at that voice, and her mouth gravitated towards his, out of her control. Wanting to ply his lips apart with her own. It was only the slight snuffle from Adaia by her hip that managed to stall her movements, and let her settle back down against his arm, eyes open and waiting for him. Waiting for any morsel of a story that he was willing to provide. Anything to distract her from their inevitable parting, and her still uncertain feelings.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was hired out to a second tier Madam? Specifically, she was having a problem with a pair of dwarven thugs who had managed to clear out her coin stores. Fortunately for me, she was willing to negotiate payment in trade-"

"Zevran!" Mindful of Adaia, sleeping by her side, she avoided raising her voice, and instead whacked him lightly across the chest. "That is not the sort of story I was hoping for." She lifted her gaze to his, hoping he could read the good humor on her face.

"Ahh, well, perhaps you should have been more specific, yes? Hmmm. I _could _tell you about this warrior I once knew. Wicked with a blade, but just as deadly with words."

She smiled, and snuggled her head back down onto his shoulder. "And how did you meet this wicked warrior? Where you given a contract on their life?"

"But of course! I'd hope you'd know me well enough by now to realize that my methods of meeting new, and interesting people are fairly limited. Since you have already effectively shot down my telling any stories involving sex…" There was a quiet growl in the tent. And since her mabari was sleeping outside, Kallian assumed that it must have come from her. "…then that leaves assassinations as my only option, no? Or are you about to take _those_ off the table as well?"

She shook her head, and he continued. "Good. As I was saying, this warrior was particularly...brutal with words. Without even realizing it, I believe. And that is separate from the fact that she foiled my assassination attempt."

Kallian couldn't help it; she scoffed. "Does that happen to you a lot?"

Zevran didn't answer for several, drawn-out moments, his previously jolly voice suddenly somber. "No. It happened less often than you may think. But she – she was special. And even after my failed attempt at murdering her, she offered her hand in friendship. In a way that no one ever had before."

The air was thick in Kallian's voice when she spoke, her mind's eye narrowing down onto the obvious. "Zevran-"

"Come now, Warden. Do you wish to hear my tale or not?"

"I – sorry. Yes. Please."

"Hmm. Now where was I? Ah, yes. She invited me to join with her, and her group. Claimed that she was heading off on an epic battle to save all of Thedas. At first I saw it only as an opportunity to complete my mission. A mission I had never planned on completing in the first place, but since she had so spectacularly ruined my plan to die in glorious battle, I thought that fulfilling my contract would be the next best thing."

Zevran's hand continued to stroke the skin of Kallian's shoulder, but her own had stopped its ministrations upon his bare chest. She couldn't breathe as she waited for him to continue.

"And then, early one evening, only a few short days after we had met, I followed her from the camp to the small river nearby. It was her evening to wash the dishes you see? She was...a striking image: bathed in the moonlight, arms covered in suds with dirty bowls stacked in a pile by her feet, and swearing rather colorfully..."

As Zevran spoke, the memory began to play itself out, like a dream she had forgotten, right before her eyes.

_He was absolutely silent as he approached; Kallian had to give him that. But either he was not as concerned with her knowing he was there as he could have been, or he was simply sloppy, for he was standing just slightly downwind, and he had still carried the stink of darkspawn blood on his clothes. "Zev, what is it you think you're doing?" _

_"What do you think it is that I am doing?" He stepped fully out of the woods and into her line of vision, a smile that she could only describe as predatory on his face. _

_"Stalking me, most likely."_

_"Stalking is such an ugly term. I prefer – hunting. It has a much less...conniving quality to it." He moved to the water's edge, but still kept his distance from her, those off-putting amber eyes of his locked on her. _

_"And you aim to be_ less_ conniving?"_

_"Hmm. It would be more accurate to say that I prefer to not be found behaving in a conniving manner."_

_"I believe that any chance you had at that dissolved the moment you accepted a contract on my life."_

_"Still so bitter? You wound me, my gorgeous leader. I thought that we had put all of that nastiness far, far behind us."_

_"It was three days ago, Zev."_

_"Ahh, so it was! But you have already taken to using my shortened name. Surely you must feel some sort of kinship with me?"_

_She blinked. She hadn't even noticed that she'd done that. It had just seemed...natural. Not that she was ever going to tell him that. "Kinship? Aside from the fact that you are the only other elf here? No, I think not. You have earned a reprieve only at this point, assassin. Killing a few darkspawn does not a redemption, make."_

_He clutched at his heart, as if he had been mortally wounded. "Such things you say! You will tear my heart out as certainly with your words as you could with your sword." He moved close, three short steps. "If you plan to be so cruel, do I not at least deserve the chance to..." He leaned forward, and picked up a lock of her hair, toying with it. When did she even let it down? She couldn't remember. "...convince you, how truly trustworthy I am?"_

_His lips were mere inches from hers. She had no plans to close the gap, however; though she was not above leading him to believe that she might – if only for a moment. She dropped her voice low, and fluttered her eyelashes in that way she had seen Leliana do when sweet-talking a merchant. "Tell you what, Zevran? You'll know when you've earned my trust: the next time I shorten your name." She watched as he blinked in surprise, and pulled back, allowing her enough breathing room to step out of his orbit. _

_She moved away from the water, leaving him standing alone by the dishes. "Oh, and Zevran? Once you are done with dishes, may I suggest a bath? Ode du darkspawn does not suit you."_

_The echo of his laughter followed her all the way back to camp. _

Kallian kept her voice subdued, quiet – a direct counterpoint to her pounding heart, which she was certain he could hear, pressed close as they were. "And you actually did the dishes that night too. I admit, I was shocked."

His laugh was throaty, and kind. "I will choose to take that as a compliment, Warden. I consider it a success every time I manage to surprise you."

Seconds led into minutes, with only the slight rustling of the trees, and the crackling fire outside the tent breaking the silence. Zevran's breathing had taken on that slow and even quality she had come to recognize as meaning he was asleep. She brought the hand that was on his chest down to smooth the hair of Adaia's head – snuggled between them – and paused for a few moments to watch the small girl breath in and out, totally at peace where she lay.

When she chanced casting her eyes upward onto Zevran's sleeping face, she was helpless to the onslaught of emotions that hit her all at once. How had they made it to this point? Wrapped in each other's arms – their child between them? _Their child. _

At one point in her life that would have been enough to send her screaming into the hills. Maker knew that it had been enough to cause her to break down in poor Sten's arms. It had been enough to keep her feet firmly planted in Seheron soil, when she had only planned for a short visit in the first place.

And she had kept him from Adaia for so long. Kept him from seeing all of the earliest of her firsts, from the joy of knowing his daughter. And for what? She could barely remember her reasoning anymore. She deserved his hatred, his anger. Instead…she'd gotten his forgiveness.

She didn't know if she truly deserved it, but she knew now that she cared too much for him to simply turn it away. Cared for this man that had once been hired to kill her, and that she now couldn't imagine living without. Cared for this man..."You always surprise me, Zevran."

"Zev." Though his voice was muffled by her hair, where his mouth was nuzzling her, the word was clear. Kallian's heart skipped a beat at the sleepy sound of his voice.

"What?" There was a tremble in Kallian's body as she endeavored to keep her tone even, so difficult was it to keep her emotions in check.

He tugged away from her, only allowing enough space between them so that when his long-lashed eyes pulled open she found herself drowning in the startling amber that had always drawn her in. "My…friends, they call me Zev."

There had been a vice-grip on her heart, and she hadn't even realized it until those words released its hold. She closed her eyes on a sigh, a breath of air. "All right...Zev." If her voice shook on the words a bit, he did her the courtesy of not calling her out.

"Pleasant dreams, Kallian." There was the lightest of kisses against her brow, his breath hot against her skin. She leaned into it, wanting more. Wanted to brand the feel of him against her skin onto her soul.

This was love. How she could have ever doubted it, she didn't know. How she could have kept quiet about it for so long was another mystery. She wanted, no _needed _to tell him. Shout it from the top of mountains, declare it any way that she could; any way at all, as long as it was made a clear, unavoidable fact. She opened her eyes, parted her lips, prepared to speak, and found his lashes drawn down, breathing even and a peaceful look upon his face as he slept.

In the morning. She would tell him in the morning.

And then she would get on a boat, beat the tar out of some uppity darkspawn, and be on the next caravan back to Denerim to pick up her family.

That was all there was to it, darkspawn of the world: _beware_. She willed her racing heart to calm, willed her body to relax, and tried to fall into sleep.

But maybe first - first she would try it out. See how the words felt on her tongue, when he wasn't likely to hear, just in case it needed revisions, or...or something. A little whisper, four small words, strung together. Nothing to it.

As she spoke, the words tangled in the air, all run together, a living thing - and he heard. His eyes opened wide, and the hand at her shoulder clenched. His voice was thick, pitched low, and intoxicating, his forehead pressed to hers, and his free hand moving to the nape of her neck, and holding her in place, so that she couldn't turn from those eyes. "Say it again."

And she did. "I love you, Zev."

The kiss that he gave her was warm and hard. Tender and luscious. And every emotion she could imagine all rolled up into one action. It left her feeling heady, joyous. A joy that was magnified by the unexpected giggle down by her hip.

They broke apart, gazes turning to take in their newly awakened daughter, who was alternating giggles with kissy-faces at them, as she struggled to move further up their bodies, so that she could be right in the middle. Exactly where she should be. A connecting line between them, arms all wrapped together, and infectious laughter filling up the tent to the point that Kallian was certain they'd wake the whole camp.

Not that she really cared. For once, caught in the happiness that surrounded her, Kallian thought that everything was exactly as it should be.

_~TBC in the Epilogue_


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final visit with our family, and catching up with some old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, again, I am SO SORRY that it has taken so long to get this Epilogue up, folks! This story has been a long time in the works for me. I first got the prompt (for a DRABBLE NO LESS) on January 31, 2010, and started on this monster about a week later. And now, AFTER A YEAR, this fic is DONE! *does happy dancing jig* I want to take a moment to thank EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU for reading, adding to favorites, commenting, adding to alerts, whathaveyou. You kept me going on this, when I thought at times I should just shelve the whole thing. *cough*screwing up canon qunari lore and being unable to fix*cough* Seriously, you people all ROCK. And, OF COURSE, I'd like to thank **pennydreadful** for the wonderful beta she has done on this whole thing. This fic is undoubtedly light-years better because of your help. Thank you! And now...here it is! I truly hope it was worth the wait...

 

 

**Denerim Palace: Eight Years after the Fall of the Archdemon**

Alistair was bored. To put it bluntly. Bored. Out. Of. His. Skull. And he shouldn't have been. Preparations were well underway for the anniversary celebration of the defeat of the Archdemon. People arriving from all over, filling up the castle, and all of Denerim. Exciting times.

He even had it on good authority that a small group would be arriving from Seheron that night - an unprecedented event. While a contingent from Orlais was expected that afternoon, and the Wardens from Amaranthine had arrived just that morning.

Along with several well-missed friends.

Not that he'd gotten to see them yet. Oh, no. No matter how hard he tried, he never seemed to be able to shuffle off all the paperwork required of a King to someone...well, better suited for paperwork; and the current pile on his desk was reaching lethal proportions. And somehow, someway, Anora had wrangled a promise out of him to complete his daily tasks before he went swanning off to play.

Well, okay, if he was honest, he could _perhaps _recall how she'd manage to secure such a declaration. One he'd been all too happy to give at the time. He let a smile twist his lips as he thought about dwelling on that one later. With perhaps a more practical, hands on reminder as to why he'd enjoyed giving it so much.

"Duncan Maurice Theirin!" At the sound of said wife's very controlled, not-quite-yelling voice, Alistair's ears perked up. It was rarely a good thing when Anora's ire was raised, and typically, it was even less of a good thing when that ire was directed at their six-year old son.

Of course, it was usually much, _much_ worse when it was directed at Alistair himself. He felt a little guilty for being thankful that it wasn't currently him on the receiving end.

As quiet as he could, Alistair moved out from behind his desk (gingerly avoiding the precarious pile of paperwork) and edged around the room until he could spy on his wife and son out in the hall. Thankful that he never closed the door - the room was too stuffy when it was shut.

"Stop. Turn." He watched as his son did just that. Dark golden locks caked with brown, and dripping with something decidedly...pink, flopped into his eyes as he dropped his chin. Trying to shield his face from his mother's inspection. But it was a vain attempt, seeing as how Anora had bent at the waist, hands braced on her knees, to get a better look. "What happened?"

"I fell."

"I can see that. Into what?"

His son fidgeted, a moist, suctioning sound following the movement of his feet; hands tugging at each other in a move very reminiscent of his mother. Despite the situation, the action brought a light smile to Alistair's face. "Uh...um...a trough?"

"Are you asking me, or telling me?"

"Telling, Mother."

"In that case, a trough of what?"

"Feed?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Again?" Anora sighed, exasperation showing plainly in her stance. "How many times do we have to go through this Duncan?"

"Umm..." Alistair watched as his son gave the question some thought. His face all bunched up: lips pursed, and nose crinkled. Just like his mother's. Alistair found it as adorable on their child, as he did on his wife. "Two more times, Mother?"

Anora breathed a sigh that Alistair knew was filled with genuine affection. The slight tilt to her chin, and the softening of her eyes gave proof to that. (Anora was highly proficient in sighing. Over the years, Alistair had cataloged several dozen styles, and this one was his favorite - well, _almost _his favorite. He tamped down on thoughts of his real favorite, no good could come of having his blood rush to his face and other body parts. Not at the moment at least.) "Duncan - sweetheart - is there a reason you always see fit to cause trouble when we have guests arriving?"

"No, mother. I was just...excited?"

"Duncan, once more. Are you telling me, or asking? You need to be decisive."

"Telling! Definitely telling." And now his son's voice was taking on the honest tenor of excitement, chin up, and eyes wide, lips moving a mile a minute. All thoughts to propriety gone out the window. "It's just – the Wardens have brought a new pack of mabari with them! Seven pups, Mum! Seven! I've never seen so many little ones before, and I thought, maybe I could get one? Like Adaia has, and, and-" He huffed out a breath, seeming lost for a minute. "Can I have one, Mum? Please?"

It was on the tip of Alistair's tongue to say: 'Yes! Yes of course!' But he managed - barely - to keep quiet. Eavesdropping might not get him into any hot water, but agreeing to let their disaster-prone child have a warhound as a pet, without discussing it first, certainly would.

With more than a little fondness, he watched as Anora reached out to stroke their son's messy head - only for her to pull back before she could make contact with the muck covering him, like she had somehow forgotten it in the wake of his exuberance. "We'll see, darling. Now, off you go. Up to your chambers and get cleaned up. I'll send Lucine up after you with a change of clothes, and a warm basin."

"Yes, mother-

"And Duncan?"

"Yes."

"Do try not to get in any trouble along the way."

Alistair waited until his son had scurried off, before he crossed through the doorway, and leaned up against the brick. One leg crossed in front of the other, a smile on his face. "You took that all rather calmly."

If Anora was surprised at his arrival, she gave no indication. She made her way over to him, back straight, held head high. That little bit of perfection she liked to show the world. "Hmm. Not that it matters. He's just going to find his way into a pile of manure, or a nest of vipers the next time he goes outside. I'd lock him in a tower if I thought it would do any good. At least I have the consolation this time of knowing there are likely two other children covered in just as much muck, running amok in the Warden encampment." She shook her head, lifting a hand to rub at her temple.

"Headache, my dear?"

"Just a bit."

Alistair darted a glance around, noting only the typical guards posted by his office chambers, and reached out to Anora, tugging her by the hand and pulling her into him, and through the doorway. She stiffened for only a moment, before she melted into his embrace, allowing him to press a kiss to her brow.

"Alistair?"

"Yes, my love?"

She tilted her chin up, capturing his gaze with crystalline eyes. Her hand trailed a path along his back, stopping at the spot where his shirt met his trousers, so that nimble fingers could toy with the hem. "Have you, by any chance, managed to complete this morning's tasks?"

"_Weeell,_ that depends on your definition of complete."

With a burst of disappointment, he felt her pull back - though she didn't let him go entirely - at looked at him with accusing eyebrows. (Alistair hadn't known it was possible for eyebrows to exhibit emotions, until he'd married Anora.) "Have you completed _any _of this morning's tasks?"

He thought back to the seal of approval he had given to the royal..._whoever_...in charge of celebratory accommodations for their out-of-town guests. It had required a stamp, and a signature. Very official..._looking._

That counted, right?

"If by any, you mean _one_, then yes. Yes I have."

She pursed her lips, and gave him an assessing stare, before giving off sigh number three on his list of favorites. "Yes. Yes I think that will do."

The hand that he had previously grabbed, locked with his own once more, as she tugged him further into the chambers, the door that he never bothered to shut, clanged loudly behind them.

More than one way to make use of that desk, after all.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Kallian loved Zevran, she truly did, but sometimes she couldn't take him anywhere.

Take for instance, the Royal Castle in Denerim. Wherein Zevran had marched, free as could be through the various halls, winking at maids and butlers as they went on by. Unmindful in the slightest of the small girl perched on his shoulders, who was laughing at every little flirtation her father made.

Completely ignoring the warning of the guard posted outside the King's official chambers, he'd burst on in, door slamming open, like he'd been invited by the Maker to do so.

And in so doing, catching her former lover - _the King of Ferelden - _in a rather compromising position with his wife - the Queen - _on the desk_.

On a list of ways to start the afternoon, it was not amongst Kallian's preferred.

"_What in the Maker-!"_

"_Wha-? Who-? ZEVRAN! OUT!"_

"_Mama, what were they doing?"_

"_You see, little one, when a man-"  
_

"_Zevran, we have discussed this! __**Not**__ until she is older!"_

"_Ohhhh, is it like what you and Mama do, when I'm supposed to be sleeping?"_

"_What?!" _

"_Heh! Excellent observation, little one."_

"_Zevran!_

"_What? Clearly your plan of keeping her in the dark has failed. Might we try my approach now?"_

"_You mean the approach that includes introducing her to the workers of the nearest brothel?"_

"_Worked fine for me."_

Kallian really did love Zevran, it was just...sometimes she couldn't take him anywhere.

~~~\/~~~

The events of the afternoon - burned in her brain for the rest of her life though they may have been - really weren't that big a deal in the grand scheme of things. Kallian knew that. Knew that they were all adults. And that getting past such a little...indiscretion, shouldn't be a big deal.

Maker's breath, but she lived with Zevran. There was really no excuse for any aspect of sex making her blush any more.

Still, when Zevran oh-so-indiscreetly brought up the earlier 'event' in mixed company (she would never hear the end of it from Oghren, she was certain) before dinner that evening, tossing out the least subtle invitation she'd ever heard to the King and Queen, she managed to find a way to blush right on down to her toes.

It didn't help matters that while Alistair may have sputtered, and the Queen may have pretended not to hear, neither one had flat out said _no_. Which of course, Zevran had been quick to point out, once she'd gotten him aside and yelled at him for it.

She needed to remember to coach the two of them in the appropriate response to Zevran's come-on's from now on. One would think that after nearly a decade of knowing him, Alistair would be a bit better at it.

Her only consolation was that Leliana had not yet arrived at that point.

~~~\/~~~

"You have a daughter? Ohhh, let me see her! Oh she is beautiful. She has your eyes, Zevran. And such gorgeous hair. You know, your mother never let me braid her hair for her. Would you mind if I braided yours? There is this special twist we do in Orlais that I think - oh...oh where did she go? Zevran? Kallian? Why are you laughing?! Your daughter just disappeared!"

~~~\/~~~

Once they managed to calm Leliana down, and explain that no, Adaia had not vanished, honest, the bard had performed a most beautiful ballad; telling the tale of the fall of the Archdemon in a way that was almost too poetic for Kallian's liking.

Kallian couldn't have imagined a better opening for the evening's festivities.

~~~\/~~~

Dinner, amazingly enough, was uneventful. Aside from the few minutes following all of the formal introductions. (She had never seen her cousin dressed so well, Shianni was simply made to be a Bann.) It took nearly a half-hour to get through all of the Banns, Arls, and Arlessa's in addition to the military leaders in attendance. The entire event culminating with the presentation of the King, Queen, and Royal Heir; after which everyone was given leave to eat.

Which is when a small, dwarven child - flame-red hair pulled back in two, messy tails - had stomped her way through the hall, straight up to Duncan, and poked a finger at the Prince's chest. "Why'dya run off earlier? I got in trouble, ya know."

The boy had blushed, and stammered, while the girl tapped her foot, and the crowd had gaped - giving Felsi time to scamper up, swat her daughter on the back of the skull, and drag her back to her seat. Quiet admonishments for her inappropriate behavior ringing out through the silent hall.

Kallian had listened, a smile on her face, as Alistair had leaned over his son, whispering, "So, I take it Nalre was your accomplice from this morning, hmm? Did she fall into a trough of feed too, or was that just you?"

At least Zevran and her weren't the only one's causing scenes around the castle.

~~~\/~~~

After dinner, the children were released to Duncan's play room. Which was more than a bit of a relief for all parties: keeping three energetic children just aching to play with one another apart for any length of time was taxing on any parent.

Of course, that meant dealing with the aftermath of three energetic children being left alone in a playroom for an hour. Only a single guard was left to keep an eye out, and he was in short time completely charmed by the lot of them.

Somehow, Kallian had drawn the short straw, and was the one sent to check on the children. Surveying the damage left in the wake of the three sleeping terrors, she was floored by what they had managed to accomplish in such a short period of time. "It looks like Redcliffe after the Seige in here."

"That it does, Kadan."

At the sound of that long-missed, familiar voice, Kallian whipped around.

"Sten!" She cried before she flung herself, with rather a lot of force, at his person, wrapping her arms around his thick middle.

For his part, Sten only rocked a little, a perfectly rooted tree - as always - and let one hand fall to her shoulder in an awkward pat. She allowed herself to enjoy the near embrace before pulling away, a flush of heat in her cheeks that she didn't mind in the slightest.

"When did you get here?"

"I arrived an hour ago." He shook his head, a deeply set frown on his face. "There are too many halls in this place. It is a maze."

She laughed. Loud, happy. Not caring that little ears might hear, and awaken. Someone else could have the job of getting them back to sleep.

"I'm surprised you were given leave to attend - a celebration such as this doesn't seem like the sort of thing the Arishok would care about."

"It is not."

"Then how is it you're here?"

"The celebration was of little concern to the Arishok; however, the converging of so many military powers on Denerim at any given time was."

"So you're basically spying on us? Making sure that we aren't all up to no good, meeting like we are, and just using the party as an excuse?"

Violet eyes blinked down at her, with perhaps the slightest hint of a smile on his mouth. "I am no spy, Kadan."

"No, my friend. You may be many things, but you are certainly not that." She shook her head, taking in the unmovable mass of her once companion, and finally decided that the too brief hug she'd given him earlier wasn't nearly enough. She launched herself at him again, holding him tight around the middle as best she could. "I missed you, Sten."

A minute passed before the hand from earlier returned to pat her back once more. "It is good to see you as well, Kadan."

~~~\/~~~

By the time midnight fell, Kallian was too wound up after the whirlwind of the day to do anything but wander the halls. She needed the act of pacing to help soothe her, so used to it had she become while living in the Keep at Amaranthine. Zevran, recognizing that she was still a bit angry after his actions earlier, had volunteered to get Adaia ready for bed, allowing Kallian the freedom to wander.

The man did know her well, she had to give him that.

That the wandering had somehow led her back to the King's occupied office, wasn't that surprising. Unlike earlier, however, the door was ajar and the King quite alone. And deep in thought, if the fact that he didn't hear her push the door open wide was any indication.

"Sovereign for your thoughts?"

"Hmm, what?"

"A sovereign for your thoughts."

"That's a mighty generous offer. I suspect you'd be hoping for a decent return on that investment, but I'm afraid I'd disappoint."

"Really? So then what is it that's keeping you up so late, and away from your lovely wife?" She hadn't meant for it to come out the way that it sounded, but the blush that stained Alistair's cheeks was one she knew quite well. "Sorry - that wasn't - I didn't mean..."

He held up a hand to stave off any more attempts at backpedaling on her part, for which she was eminently grateful. "It's quite all right, you live with Zevran. I suspect innuendo is as typical as breathing in that household."

She bit her lip, and felt a blush rise in her own cheeks. "A little bit."

He smiled wide, that boyish charm of his still in place, despite the small lines that had etched themselves around his eyes. Laugh lines, she'd heard them called. She thought they suited him.

"Please, come in, sit. I don't bite." The coughing fit those words caused in Kallian was in no way a proportional response. She really needed to get sex off the brain. Judging by the three shades of crimson that Alistair had turned, he probably agreed.

Once she managed to get herself under control, she slide herself into the chair across the desk from Alistair. Who, despite the kingly attire, seemed wholly unsuited for the piece of furniture. Like a little boy playing dress-up. The thought made her smile once more. "So if it isn't something worthwhile keeping you here..."

"Now, I didn't say _that_, exactly. More like..." He rolled his hands in front of him, like he as trying to spell the best word to describe what he was thinking of into life. "More like...it is all just so dreadfully dull, and monotonous that it sometimes makes me wish I'd just taken the blasted vows and became a Templar."

"What-?"

He sighed, heavily, and leaned his chin on one hand, propping it up on the desk. "Paperwork, mostly. They don't tell you just how much paperwork a King has to do when you're being raised in a stable as his illegitimate heir, you know. And it's an awful lot of paperwork. I sort of...failed to complete today's list of tasks, and am just trying to finish them now. Before tomorrow's pile shows up, and I'm left a shriveled-up corpse beneath their combined weight."

"Oh. I see. Well, that **is **quite boring, isn't it?"

She watched as he dropped his head to the desk, letting it thunk loudly on the wood. "I know."

A minute passed with his head still on the desk, with no sign of it lifting. She thought that maybe he'd fallen asleep. "I guess I shouldn't keep you then. It was good to see you again, Alistair." Gingerly, she raised herself half-way out of the chair when his desk-muffled voice stopped her mid-lift.

"Pardon?"

This time he raised his head fully, eyes that she had once adored locked onto hers, holding just as much warmth as they ever had - if not quite the same kind. "I said: We never talk anymore, why is that?"

She slowly lowered herself back to sit. "We talk."

"We discuss business; or your daughter, or my son. But we never _talk _anymore."

"But that _is _talking Alistair. Just because our topics of conversation aren't as..."

"Friendly?"

"I was going to go with inane, but fine. Aren't as friendly. Then that's just because we have a lot going on in our lives. Hardly time to just sit and yammer like we use to all hours of the night."

A smile flitted across his face, made him look as young as she remembered. Still handsome as ever. "You mean back when all we had to worry about was stopping a blight? Silly me, here I thought we had **loads **of time on our hands in comparison to that. What with Archdemons and darkspawn no longer knocking on our doors."

She laughed, leaning back in a full sprawl in the chair. "I see your point. All right then. Talk."

Alistair's mouth opened once, presumably to bring to life whatever topic he had been itching to discuss, only for his jaw to snap shut a second later. A crease, one that Kallian had never seen before, formed down the middle of his brow. Unable to come up with anything that didn't directly involve any of the taboo topics, she waited on him to start; her fingers quietly plucking at the upholstery of the chair as the silence stretching between them became increasingly uncomfortable.

"...Um..."

"Ahem..."

"You'll be stepping down as Arlessa then?"

"What happened to not talking business?"

"It was all I could think of!"

"Alistair-"

"And besides, I _am _curious. The last I heard you were enjoying your post, and now you're prepared to had it over to Declan?"

"Declan knows Amaranthine as well as I. He is the logical choice to replace me as Warden Commander, and as Arl."

"I don't dispute that. But, where will you go?"

Kallian sighed, and ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the knot at the base of neck, undoing the messy strands and letting them fall to her shoulders. Her fingers stopping to linger on the small ring piercing her ear. "Antiva. Zevran has spent so much time weaving tales of the place for both Adaia and I, that I think we are both half in love with it already. Seems only fair that we should at least visit it once. And it's been long enough since Zevran was there that his legend is sure to have dimmed a little."

An affectionate smile found its way to Alistair's face, and she realized with a small pang that she had missed seeing it. Missed her friend. "He makes you happy, doesn't he?

Just the mention of Zevran, the tiniest thought of him placed into her mind, made Kallian's whole body feel warm. Made a smile split her face wide. It was an understatement to say so, but...yes. "He does."

"I'm glad."

This time, the gap in conversation was much less awkward, and filled with something resembling understanding.

~~~\/~~~

Kallian hadn't meant to stay up quite so late, really she hadn't, the night had just gotten away from her. Which is why she was both slightly surprised, and not even remotely shocked, when a hand darted out to grasp her around the wrist as she crossed into her family's assigned chambers. She yelped at first, before giving into Zevran's ploys, and let him advance her backwards towards the bed.

After all, she was the one that had been gone all hours of the night.

"I do believe that you snuck off this morning without a single word of explanation, mi amor. The sheets were quite cold when I awoke."

"I had duties to attend to, Zevran, you know that."

"Hmm, yes. Yes, I do recall. But then after dinner, you left me, all on my lonesome, so that you could wander the castle. And now look, the moon has nearly set! A lesser man might think you were avoiding him."

"Mmm, lucky for me that you aren't such a man, isn't it?"

"So true, mi cara. So true." Kallian could feel the heat in her cheeks skate on down her neck and into her limbs, until she felt positively flushed all over. The way that he situated himself on the bed – knees spread just wide enough so that she could stand between them, with his hands tracing patterns on her hips – did not help matters in the least. "We shouldn't…" One stray finger slipped beneath the band of her pants, touching the sensitive skin of her lower abdomen before she found the strength to push a few inches away. "Adaia is staying just next door, Zevran. Not down the hall like at home. Need I remind you of that?"

His eyes didn't leave hers as he stood, lips soft, and breath warm against her ear when he spoke. "Ahh, yes. But she did confess earlier today that she already knows what it is we do when she is sleeping. So it's not as if we would be corrupting her, now is it?

"And besides, I've always had a...fantasy, shall we say? About taking you in this castle."

Kallian swallowed. Her breath coming in shorter bursts, and her heart rate rising in anticipation. "Really?"

"Mmm. Yes." An arm snaked around her middle, pulling her tight against him, as he maneuvered them towards the door. "Would you like me to show you where?"

"This wouldn't involve a desk, would it, Zevran?"

"Please, my Warden Commander. Do you think I would stoop to something so...plebeian, when there is a Royal Throne Room available?"

Kallian laughed until she moaned, both sounds drowned out by Zevran's kiss.

The truth of the matter was, that while sometimes she couldn't take Zevran anywhere, she really didn't mind it one bit.

Love was funny like that.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

**The Woods Outside the Gates of Denerim: Eight Years after the Fall of the Archdemon**

The city of Denerim had amassed spectators from all over Ferelden, and from even the farther reaches of Thedas, if the markings on some of the caravans were anything to go on. Crowds like these were perfect for maintaining anonymity, if that is what one was after. A person could blend seamlessly into one of the larger groups, and skirt off once they had reached the markets – sight unseen.

It was for these very reasons that Morrigan had waited until just such a time to approach the city. She had wanted the assurance that she could be just another face among thousands, until the moment came for her to announce her presence. A celebration such as this, was the perfect opportunity.

And yet, she hesitated. She could see, down below, a sizable contingent of soldiers, armor ablaze with the Grey Warden crest, and it made her stomach churn in an unfamiliar way. Made her remember questions and queries from a woman she'd once called friend.

The only friend she'd ever known.

A tiny bird, perched upon a branch a stone's throw away caught her eye. A little trill of song escaping its beak reached her ears while she watched. Another reminder. And an omen if ever there was one.

Thick, tiny fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt, drawing her attention downward. She felt the tension in her body slacken, just at the sight of the young boy by her side. Round, yellow eyes shone up at her out of a face the exact miniature of his father. "Mother? I'm hungry."

Morrigan ran a hand through the child's hair, smoothing down the unruly locks. "What say you to rabbit for dinner?"

"_Again?_ I thought we were going to the city – you said there'd be bread, and pastries, and cheese there!" Morrigan found it absolutely amazing how annoying she found that whine when the child's father had done it, but how much more endearing it was now, coming from her son.

"I know, my love." She bent down, so that she could meet him eye to eye, and smoothed her hands down from his shoulders to hold his tiny palms against her own. "But 'twill not be long before we reach another city."

His lower lip stuck out in a pout, "But what's wrong with _this_ one?"

"Why, 'tis too full. Just look at those crowds! 'Tis a circus, and I am certain that the markets are all sold out." Placating. She was placating her son. Something she'd sworn never to do. But, she refused to feel one iota of disgust at herself at the action. Not while looking into that face. That face that threatened to crack her resolve, and wear through her very sound logic. That could cause her to act rashly, and storm the gates of Denerim just to get him dinner.

Desperate times and all.

"You _promise _we'll stop at the next one, Mother?"

"Yes, my child. I promise."

He huffed out a breath, whipping the hair that had fallen from in front of his eyes, out of his face, and smacking her with it in the process. "Fine. But no more rabbit. Can't we have something exotic? Like weasel instead?"

Morrigan laughed, and raised herself to her full height, before wrapping her son's hand in her own. "What a wonderful idea! Weasel for dinner. Come now, best to change into something good at hunting weasels then."

"Like what, Mother?"

"Hmm, I think that a wolf should do nicely. Don't you?"

A bark, followed by an excited yip was her only response. With an indulgent smile, and a sparing glance at the ominous bird at her back, Morrigan too shifted form, and joined her child in his hunt.

She'd just have to return to Denerim later. When it was safer.

Her child was still young after all, her plans could wait.

~End.


End file.
